f 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


.WU.MERC0UECT10N 


j]i  the  Internet  Archive 

i. ,  ^v^w^  vVith  funding  from 
jrsity  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel 


http://www.archive.org/details/deepwatersorstraOOcro; 


f 


DEEP  WATERS, 


-OR  A- 


STRANGE  STORY 


BY- 


REV,  R,  H,  CROZIER, 


Author    of   '^  Fiery  Trials,^'   ^' Araphel,'^    '^  Cave  of  Hegohar^ 
""Confederate   Spy,''^    '•'•Bloody   Junto"    o^c,    ^c. 


"IDl^en  tl^rougE?  tE^e  ly^^x>  IDaters  3  call  tl^ee  to  ^o/' 


ST.  LOUIS: 
PUBLISHING    HOUSE   OF    FARRIS,    SMITH    &    CO. 

Qiq    OLIVE    STREET. 


COPYRIGHT  BY  R.  H    CROZIER. 

ALL  SIGHTS   RESERVED. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I.  P.,^K. 

The  Young  Graduate         -         -         -         ■  ■         5 

CHAPTER  n. 

A  Great  Change 30 

CHAPTER  HI. 
The  Mysterious  Voice 51 

CHAPTER  IV. 
A  Rival 76 

CHAFFER  V. 
Deep  Waters  -         -         -         -         -         -       99 

CHAPTER  VL 

Manassas  -         -         -         -         -         -  126 

CHAPTER  VH. 
After  the  Battle 136 

CHAPTER  VHI. 
Hard  Truths 151 

CHAPTER  IX. 
"Off  to  the  Wars  " 168 

CHAPTER  X. 
A- Dangerous  Mission    -         -.^^-T  -         -         "  1^2 


IV  OONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XI. 
A  Brave  Girl 105 

CHAPTER  XII. 
In  Prison  --.-..  200 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
A  Desperate  Man      -         -         -         -         -         -     226 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Dark  Hours  -  -  -  .         .         .  245 

CHAPTER  XV. 
A  Remarkable  Event         -         -         -         -         -     260 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
A  Confederate  Marriage         -         -         -     '    -  277 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
Peace -     283 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
The  Drunkard      --....  295 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
The  Crime        ---....     ^Qg 

CHAPTER  XX. 
The  Prison  -         -         .         .         .         .  ^jy 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
The  Trial ^20 

CliAPTER  XXII. 

The  Last  Scene 


/ 


341 

The  Sermon     -         -         .      •  .         .         .         _     ^-^ 


DEEP  WATERS 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE  YOUNG  GRADUATE. 


In  the  latter  part  of  June  18 —  the  little  city 
of  Oxford,  Miss.,  was  teeming  with  visitors, 
not  only  from  various  portions  of  the  State, 
but  from  the  adjoining  States  of  Tennessee, 
Alabama,  Arkansas  and  Louisiana.  This 
concourse  of  people  was  no  unusual  spectacle 
to  the  citizens  of  Oxford;  for  it  was  but  the 
gathering  that  occurred  regularly  once  a  year. 
The  center  of  attraction  to  this  fashionable, 
well-dressed  assemblage  was  the  University 
of  Mississippi,  which  has  sent  forth  hundreds 
of  young  men  intellectually  equipped  for  the 
stern  struggle  for  existence — a  struggle,  the 
contemplation  and  investigation  of  which 
gave  birth  to  Mr.  Darwin's  doctrine  of  "The 
survival  of  the  fittest."  What  was  the  mean- 
ing of  this  concourse  ?    It  was  Commencement 

5 


b  dep:p  waters. 

day.  The  University  would  again  dismiss  an- 
(;ther  class  of  her  children  to  assume  the  grave 
responsibilities  of  citizenship,  and  to  enter 
into  the  new  and  strange  relations  for  which 
they  had  been  preparing  by  years  of  diligent 
study.  At  last,  the}^  were  to  lay  aside  the  toga 
mrilis  trita,  and  don  the  togapexa  of  manhood. 
It  was  the  last  day,  and  the  exercises  of  the 
graduating  class  were  to  close  the  week's 
programme. 

At  an  early  hour  the  crowd  of  visitors  and 
the  citizens  of  Oxford  began  to  fill  up  the 
chapel,  and  by  the  time  the  speaking  was  to 
begin,  the  large  and  commodious  structure 
was  packed  with  a  dense  mass  of  eager,  intel- 
ligent humanity ;  for  it  was  generally  the 
elite  of  the  country  that  gathered  here  on 
these  interesting  occasions.  The  class  of 
this  year  was  unusually  large,  and  was  dis- 
tinguished for  intellectual  attainments.  Sit- 
ting in  the  long  row  of  chairs  in  front  of  the 
rostrum^  they  constituted  as  fine  a  body  of 
young  men  as  could  be  collected  from  the 
South.  What  a  variety  of  destinies  lay  be- 
fore them  I  How  many  would  ever  rise  to 
eminence  in  any  department  of  human 
activity  I     How  many  would  go  down  to  pre- 


3f 

Of  ' 


THE   YOUNG   GRADUATE.  7 

mature  graves  without  any  opportunity  of  jus- 
tifying the  fond  anticipations  of  their  friends  ! 
How  many  would  disappoint  the  expectations 
of  their  affectionate  parents,  many  of  whom 
proudly  gazed  upon  them  as  they  performed 
their  parts  in  the  programme!  There  was 
much  speculation  that  day  as  to  what  these 
young  men  would  achieve  upon  the  arena  of 
active  life.  It  would  be,  no  doubt,  very  inter- 
esting if  we  could  trace  the  subsequent  history 
of  each  and  all,  but  our  present  undertaking 
will  compel  us  to  confine  our  attention  to  only 
one  of  the  class,  whose  career  was  sufficiently 
remarkable  to  be  rescued  from  the  darkness 
of  that  obscurity  in  which  the  large  majority 
of  his  mates  have  disappeared. 

At  length  the  speaking  began.  The  first 
speaker  was  listened  to  with  attention  which 
novelty  secures.  The  next  found  a  difficulty 
in  making  himself  heard  in  the  remoter  parts 
of  the  building,  the  consequence  of  which  was 
considerable  whispering  in  the  seats  that  were 
beyond  the  compass  of  his  voice.  The  next 
four  or  five  speakers  labored  under  the  dis- 
advantage of  trying  to  overcome  that  buzz  and 
hum  of  conversation,  sotto  xoce^  which  is  gen- 
erally a  disturbing  element  when  the  orator 


8  DEEP   WATERS. 

cannot  reach  the  whole  of  his  audience.  But 
a  wonderful  change  was  soon  to  come  over  this 
congregation,  now  becoming  rapidly  demoral- 
ized by  forgetting  or  ignoring  the  demands  of 
etiquette.  For  when  the  next  speaker  was 
called,  a  3^oung  man  responded  whose  pale 
cast  of  countenance  indicated  the  world's 
ideal  student.  His  ^^lendie^.  physique  at  once 
arrested  the  attention  of  the  entire  assembly, 
and  there  was  a  strange,  sudden  lull,  for 
which  no  one  could  account.  Those  in  the 
rear  of  the  chapel  straightened  themselves, 
and  leaned  forward,  as  if  fearful  that  thej^ 
would  lose  the  first  words  of  the  orator.  The 
ladies  ceased  fanning,  and  fastened  their  eyes 
upon  tlie  elegant  form  now  standing  in  grace- 
ful attitude  on  the  crowded  rostrum.  It  was 
evident  that  something  unusual  was  expected. 
Would  the  assembly  be  disappointed  and  dis- 
gusted? Would  the  external  marks  of  genius 
prove  fallacious  ?  The  young  man  bowed  grace- 
fully, straightened  himself,  paused  for  an  in- 
stant, and  gazed  modestly,  but  in  perfect  self- 
possession,  at  the  sea  of  upturned,  eager  faces. 
Slowly  came  forth  tlie  first  sentences  flowing 
on  a  voice  as  clear  as  a  silver  trumpet,  and 
yet  as  soft  as  the  breeze  which  was  at  that 


4   * 


THE    YOUI^G   GRADUATE. 


moment  soughing  through  the  broad  oaks  of 
the  surrounding  forest.  The  tones,  and,  in 
fact,  everything  else  about  the  young  man 
appeared  to  be  in  consonance  with  his  subject, 
which  the  jtudience  saw,  on  glancing  at  the 
programme,  was  ''Man  was  made  to  mourn." 
It  was  a  theme  which,  of  course,  admitted  of 
no  profound  reasoning,  and  no  startling 
argument.  None  was  attempted,  and  none 
was  expected.  The  auditors  tacitly  offered 
their  emotions  to  be  swayed  as  the  orator 
willed.  The  people  made  no  resistance,  but 
seemed  to  yield  at  once  to  the  strange,  subtile 
influence  which  was  stealing  over  them,  and 
insinuating  itself  into  their  hearts  like  an 
invisible  current  of  electricity.  The  smiles 
vanished  from  every  face  as  the  youthful 
speaker,  in  a  slightly  quivering  voice,  por- 
trayed scenes  of  human  sorrow  and  suffering, 
in  order  to  establish  his  proposition.  In  a  lit- 
tle while  tears  were  seen  rolling  down  grave 
cheeks.  Young  ladies  endeavored  to  laugh 
at  the  "ridiculous  scene,"  as  some  called  it, 
but  the  crystal  drops  glistened  in  their  ej^es. 
At  last,  when  the  young  man  sat  down,  noth- 
ing was  heard  but  suppressed  sobs  and  efforts 
to  clear  the  nasal  duct  of  its  liquid  obstruc- 


10  DEEP   WATERS. 

tions.  At  first  there  was  no  apj^laiise  :  people 
seemed  unwilling  that  the  spell  should  be 
broken.  But  presently,  seeming  to  realize 
that  the  effort  deserved  more  than  the  silent 
attestation  of  the  lachrymal  gland,  they  sud- 
denly burst  forth  into  thunders  of  applause, 
such  as  had  never  before  awoke  echoes  in  the 
classic  grove  that  sheltered  the  chapel.  Those 
who  had  printed  programmes  again  looked  at 
the  name  of  this  young  man.  It  was  Ernest 
Edgefield. 

Who  was  he  ?  Whence  did  he  come  ?  Such 
were  the  questions  which  immediately  followed 
this  effort,  the  most  remarkable  that  had  ever 
been  witnessed  in  the  University  of  Mississip- 
pi. It  was  ascertained  that  day,  that  there 
was  nothing  very  eventful  or  wonderful  in  his 
history.  His  parents  had  died  when  he  was 
small,  leaving,  however,  sufficient  means  to 
support  him  till  he  could  obtain  a  collegiate 
education.  Such  was  his  brief  history.  But 
what  would  be  his  future?  Everybody  felt 
that  his  career  would  be  brilliant ;  that  the 
young  man  must  achieve  a  degree  of  success 
commensurate  with  his  wonderful  oratory. 
We  will  afronce  follow  up  his  footsteps. 

Ernest  determined  to  adopt  the  law  as  his 


THE    YOUIS^G   GRADUATE.  11 

profession.  He  now  had  "barely  funds  to 
defray  his  expenses  through  tlie  Law  School, 
but  as  he  did  not  wish  to  lose  time,  he  resolved 
to  exhaust  his  entire  means  in  the  completion 
of  his  legal  education.  At  the  expiration  of 
two  years  he  was  graduated  with  distinction  ; 
but  he  was  penniless,  and  had  to  begin  the 
battle  with  nothing  but  his  education  and 
energy.  His  guardian,  with  whom  our  reader 
will  soon  become  better  acquainted,  agreed  to 
board  him  without  pay  till  the  young  man's 
efforts  should  be  crowned  with  that  material 
success,  which  the  Reverend  gentleman 
thought  must  attend  the  exercise  of  such 
talents  as  his  young  ward  possessed.  When 
the  parents  of  Ernest  died,  he  was  left  to  the 
care  of  a  minister  of  the  Baptist  denomina- 
tion, in  whom  they  had  unbounded  confidence. 
His  name  was  Joseph  Hillston.  He  at  once 
took  the  boy  to  his  house,  and  made  no  differ- 
ence between  him  and  his  own  children.  By 
a  judicious  management  of  the  small  property 
left  in  his  hands,  Mr.  Hillston  kept  the  youth 
in  college  till  his  education  was  completed,  at 
which  time  Ernest  had  attained  his  majority. 
Mr.  Hillston  then  turned  over  to  him  the 
remainder  of  his  property,  which,  as  stated. 


12  DEEP    WATERS. 

was  entirely  absorbed  hy  his  two  year's 
course  at  the  Law  School.  And  now  lie  had 
no  money,  but  he  was  animated  by  a  lofty 
purpose,  and  a  determination  to  conquer, 
before  which  he  felt  that  difficulties  must 
vanish.  No  one  seemed  to  doubt  that  the 
brilliant  young  lawyer,  with  his  splendid  ac- 
complishments, would  subordinate  destiny  to 
his  will,  and  would  soon  stand  at  the  head  of 
the  legal  fraternity.  Indeed,  some  predicted 
that  he  would,  at  last,  reach  the  highest  office 
that  the  people  could  bestow.  And  why 
should  he  not  ?  Not  a  single  element  of  suc- 
cess was  lacking,  so  far  as  his  friends  could 
see.  His  attainments  appeared  to  be  equal  to 
the  demands  of  the  most  vaulting  ambition. 
What,  then,  should  he  care  for  difficulties, - 
except  as  a  stimuhis  to  arouse  his  energies  ? 

But  what  little,  insignificant  trifles  turn  the 
barque  of  destiny  into  channels  of  which  the 
pilot  never  dreamed  !  It  is  not  violent  storms 
that  change  the  course  of  this  allegorical 
barque;  because  the  pilot  is  prepared  for 
great  disturbances  and  obstacles.  "  It  was  a 
moment  of  sleep  that  caused  Palinurus  to  fall 
over-board  into  the  sea :  a  hurricane  could  not 
have  produced  the  same  disastrous  result.     It 


THE   YOUNG   GRADUATE.  13 

is  the  little  tilings  that  change  the  current  of 
human  life.  A  spider's  web  sometimes  turns 
the  vessel's  helm  :  the  echo  of  a  word  destroj^s 
the  equilibrium  of  circumstances.  Late  in 
life  man  finds  himself  driven  into  a  port 
which  had  never  entered  into  the  programme 
of  possibilities.  All  this  will  be  illustrated 
in  the  progress  of  the  present  story. 

A  few  days  after  Ernest  returned  from  the 
Law  School,  there  was  seen  on  the  door  of 
an  unpretending  office,  in  his  native  town,  a 
square  piece  of  metal,  exhibiting  in  gilded 
letters,  "-Ernest  Edgefield,  Attorney  at  Law.'' 

Our  yonng  lawyer  had  not  the  most  remote 
idea  of  settling  permanently  in  this  little 
town,  where  he  would  have  to  fritter  away  his 
energies  and  cramp  his  mind  in  such  narrow 
litigation  as  must  arise  in  rural  courts,  but  he 
fully  intended,  after  a  while,  to  seek  a  tield  of 
broader  dimensions,  which  would  call  forth  all 
his  legal  lore,  and  cause  him  to  put  forth  all 
the  strength  of  which  he  was  capable.  His 
present  location  was  only  the  stepping-stone 
to  his  loftier  aspirations,  and  which,  he 
thought,  would  detain  him  only  till  he  could 
acquire  sufficient  means  to  justify  his  removal 


14  DEEP    WATERS. 

to  some  city  where  his  talents  could  find  room 
for  development. 

It  was  not  long  before  Ernest's  fond  hopes 
and  the  justifiable  expectations  of  his  friends 
began  to  emerge  from  the  shade  of  possibili- 
ties into  the  sunshine  of  realities.  Legal  bus- 
iness flowed  in,  and  Ernest,  at  the  very 
outset  of  his  career,  found  himself  entrusted 
with  the  management  of  as  important  cases 
as  ever  require  judicial  investigation  in  a 
provincial  court. 

But  Ernest  could  not  thus  go  on  forever, 
thinking  of  nothing  but  the  immediate  object 
of  his  ambition,  and  dreaming  only  of  deeds  and 
legal  parchments  and  bags  of  gold.  At  an 
early  day  in  his  career  a  path  of  destiny 
began  to  open  in  the  misty  future,  different 
from  that  which  he  had  at  first  marked  out 
for  himself.  In  the  town  there  lived  a  young 
lady  whom  he  had  known  from  childhood. 
For  several  years,  however,  she  had  occupied 
scarcely  a  single  thought  of  his,  attributable 
to  the  fact  that  both  had  been  absent  at 
school.  Both  returned  home  the  same  month 
to  enter  upon  their  respective  careers,  which 
seemed  to  be  as  far  apart  as  zenith  and  nadir, 
since    the   charming,    gilded    path    of   ease. 


THE   YOUNG   GRADUATE.  15 

leisure  and  idleness  lay  before  the  one,  and 
tlie  path  of  work,  diligence,  and  activity  lay 
before  the  other. 

Clara  Yanclure  was  the  only  child  of  a 
wealthy  merchant.  Her  prospects  were  re- 
garded as  very  brilliant,  since  the  probability 
was,  she  would  inherit  all  her  father's  proper- 
ty, consisting  of  lands  and  plantations  as  well 
as  stores,  and  estimated  at  not  less  than  two 
millions  of  dollars.  As  might  be  expected, 
she  was  a  "spoiled  child,"  yet,  she  was  beau- 
tiful, and  accomplished  to  the  full  extent  of 
her  capacities,  which,  strict  truth  compels  us 
to  say,  were  not,  by  any  means,  of  the  highest 
order.  But  the  dazzling  mantle  of  vast  wealth 
hides  a  mighty  multitude  of  faults.  There  is 
a  confusing  glamour  about  "great  posses- 
sions," which  so  fascinates  and  bewitches, 
that  the  judgment  of  men  cannot  be  properly 
exercised.  The  sneering  cynic,  like  growling 
Diogenes,  may  affect  to  despise  wealth,  but 
in  his  heart  he  respects  the  owner,  who  con- 
trols such  a  source  of  commercial  power  and 
social  influence.  We  may  have  a  contempt 
for  the  rich  man's  character,  but  in  spite  of 
ourselves,  we  stand  in  awe  of  the  Magician's 
mysterious  ring  which  he  wears  on  his  finger. 


16  DEEP    WATERS. 

It  was  wealth  that  gave  an  additional  luster 
to  Miss  Vanclure's  accomplishments. 

When  Ernest  again  met  the  young  lady, 
after  a  separation  of  several  years,  both  were 
changed  by  the  uncontrollable  vicissitudes  of 
time.  She  especially  had  developed  from  an 
awkward  Miss  of  fifteen,  into  a  symmetrically- 
proportioned  woman.  In  the  catalogue  of 
her  recommendations,  her  physical  attractions 
were  certainly  well  calculated  to  make  an  im- 
pression upon  any  susceptible  heart.  Ernest 
was  not  insensible  to  the  charms  of  beauty, 
and  he  at  once  acknowledged  Clara's  claims 
to  the  highest  order  of  corporeal  graces.  He 
immediately  renewed  his  acquaintance  with 
his  quondam  school-fellow,  (for  both  had 
attended  the  same  school  when  the}^  were 
children)  to  which  she  was,  by  no  means 
averse.  Our  reader  will  be  afflicted  with  no 
long  story  of  love  and  courtship.  It  is  always 
very  entertaining  to  a  certain  class  of  young 
people  to  read  the  entire  history  of  two  lovers 
— their  honeyed  utterances,  poetical  effusions, 
delightful  promenades  by  moonlight — their 
petty  jealousies,  sad  misunderstandings,  little 
quarrels,  succeeded  by  reconciliation  that 
only    places    mutual   rehabilitation    upon    a 


THE    YOUNG   GRADUATE.  17 

firmer  basis — all  this  might  be  highly  inter- 
esting, but  we  must  hasten  on  to  the  narra- 
tion of  more  important  events.  It  is  sufficient 
to  say  that  as  soon  as  Ernest's  success  became 
an  assured  fact,  he  proposed  to  the  fair  Clara, 
and  was  accepted.  Old  Mr.  Yanclure  was 
secretly  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  such  an 
alliance,  for  he  was  not  one  of  those  simple- 
tons who  would  have  their  children  sacrifice 
their  temporal  happiness  upon  the  the  altar  of 
Mammon.  Clara  would  have  a  large  estate, 
and  only  needed  a  husband  who  had  the  abil- 
ity to  manage  it.  Mr.  Yanclure,  now  advanced 
in  years,  had  felt  considerable  anxiety  in 
regard  to  his  daughter's  future,  but  the  per- 
plexing problem  seemed  about  to  end  in  a 
felicitous  solution,  and  a  great  burden  was 
lifted  from  his  mind,  when  one  day  Ernest 
called  for  the  purpose  of  asking  his  consent 
to  a  closer  relationship  between  Miss  Yan- 
clure and  himself.  He  had  been  among  the 
first  to  discover  the  excellency  and  solidity  of 
the  young  man's  moral  character,  and  he  was 
not  so  blinded  by  parental  love  that  he  could 
not  easily  perceive  the  moral  infirmities  of  his 
own  child.  He  knew  that  she  would  need  a 
protector  and  a    guardian    as  long  as    she 


18  DEEP   WATERS. 

should  live.  Therefore,  having  been  fearful 
that  Clara  would  become  the  prey  of  some 
worthless  adventurer,  he  could  scarcely  con- 
ceal his  joy  when  Ernest  approached  him 
upon  this  delicate  subject.  However,  the  old 
gentleman  seemed  to  think  it  advisable  to 
mask  his  happy  feelings  under  the  guise  of  a 
little  opposition,  and  he  said : 

"Ah?  I  was  hardly  expecting  this — at  least 
so  soon — yes,  so  soon." 

"  Why  not,  Mr.  Vanclure?" 

"  Why  not?  Why  because  you  ar'nt  settled 
in  life — yes,  settled  in  life." 

"I  have  now  a  respectable  income,"  said 
Ernest,  "if  you  are  alluding  to  that,  and  it  is 
increasing  gradually,  but  surely." 

"I  have  no  doubt,  Ernest,"  replied  Mr.  Van- 
clure, with  more  tenderness  than  he  wished  to 
manifest,  "  that  you  will  succeed— yes,  you 
will  succeed.  But  still,  both  of  you  are  rather 
young  to  marry." 

"  We  think  differently,"  answered  Ernest, 
with  a  smile,  "  I  am  nearly  twenty  five." 

"  Ah  ?  are  you  that  old  ?  Well,  bless  me,  I 
believe  you  are,  since  I  come  to  think  about  it. 
Dear  me !  how  time  does  fly — yes,  how  time 
does  fly.     You  have  got  to  be  a  man  before  I 


THE    YOUNG   GRADUATE.  19 

thought  about  it.  Young  people  do  grow  up 
so  fast — so  fast — and  Clara  is  a  grown  woman, 
too.     Well;  well." 

"  Since  you  have  discovered  that  we  are  both 
grown,"  saidErnest  with  a  smile,  "  may  I  hope 
that  you  will  not  oppose  our  wishes  ?" 

''  And  if  I  did,"  answered  Mr.  Yanclure,  not 
knowing  what  he  ought  to  say,  ''  What  would 
you  do — yes,  what  would  you  do  ?  " 

*'I  should  endeavor  to  overcome  your  oppo- 
sition." 

"xind  I  guess  you  think  you'd  succeed  with 
your  eloquence.  You  lawyers  are  cunning 
dogs,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  breaking  into  a 
laugh,  which,  rather  than  otherwise,  indicated 
approval  of  this  feature  of  the  legal  character, 
''yes,  cunning  dogs.  If  I  give  you  a  chance  to 
argue  the  case,  I'm  satisfied  I'll  lose ;  for 
you'll  convince  me  that  Clara  will  land  in 
eternal  perdition  unless  she  marries  you — yes 
marries  you — and  nobody  else.  I  don't  want 
to  get  into  an  argument  with  you  lawyers.  So 
if  the  arrangement  suits  Clara,  I'll  have  nothing 
more  to  say.  It  will  take  a  lawyer  anyhow  to 
manage  the  estate  to  which  she  will  fall  heir 
some  of  these  days.  The  thing  is  now  getting 
beyond  my  comprehension,  and  I   will   soon 


20  DEEP    WATERS. 

have  to  get  a  lawyer  to  untangle  some  of  my 
affairs — yes,  some  of  my  affairs." 

In  this  way  the  old  man  gave  his  consent. 

Here  we  must  say  that  the  reader  would  do 
Ernest  the  grossest  injustice  to  suppose  that 
the  metallic  virtue  of  the  young  lady  was  the 
chief  consideration  that  influenced  his  affec- 
tions. Clara  appeared  lovely  in  his  eyes,  and 
he  would  have  been  willing  to  enter  into  the 
matrimonial  relation  without  any  prospect  of 
dower.  Nearly  every  one  in  the  community 
believed  that  Ernest  was  governed  in  this 
affaire  du  coeur  by  mercenary  considerations. 
There  is  nothing  more  certain  than  that  an 
impecunious  man  who  pays  his  addresses  to  a 
wealthy  woman,  will  incur  the  imputation  of 
improper  motives.  It  is  a  sad  fact,  that  the 
world  is  envious.  People,  in  tlieir  secret  souls, 
dislike  to  see  their  neighbors  lifted  by  sudden 
prosperity  to  an  elevation  above  their  own 
level.  Wliy  should  not  such  good  fortune 
have  happened  to  themselves?  is  the  galling, 
latent  thought  of  their  hearts,  to  which  they 
would  be  ashamed  to  give  audible  expression. 
The  thought  lurks  in  the  darkest  recesses  of 
the  breast  like  a  slimy   viper,  and  well  de- 


THE   YOUNG   GRADUATE.  21 

serves  a  place  in  the  horrid  abode  of  that  fear- 
ful envy,  so  graphically  described  by  Ovid : 

Pallor  in  ore  sedet,  macies  in  corpore  toto, 
Nusquam  recta  acies;  livent  rubigine  denies, 
Pectora  felle  virent,  lingua  est  suffusa  veneno^^ 

But  Ernest  truly  loved  Clara,  though  he  might 
not  himself  have  been  able  to  explain  the 
source  of  attraction,  as  love  is  not  a  passion 
subject  to  the  human  will.  Mr.  Hillston  at  an 
early  period  of  the  courtship,  perceived  his  in- 
fatuation, and  as  he  took  a  deep  interest  in 
the  welfare  of  his  ward,  he  could  not  but  feel 
some  misgivings  as  to  the  propriety  of  the 
union.  One  day  Ernest  informed  him  of  his 
engagement,  and  the  old  man  shook  his  head 
unconsciously  in  an  ominous  manner,  which 
did  not  escape  Ernest's  observation. 

"■  You  do  not  seem  to  approve  of  my  selec- 
tion V  said  Ernest  inquiringly.  Mr.  Hillston 
had  made  no  remark  after  this  communication, 
but  sat  still  with  an  ambiguous  expression 
upon  his  face. 

"  It  is  not  for  me  to  approve  or  disapprove 
in  matters  of  this  kind,"  was   Mr.   Hillston's 

*iV  paleness  rests  on  her  face,  leanness  in  the  whole 
body,  Never  looks  direct;  her  teeth  are  black  with  rust: 
Her  breast  srreen  with  gall ;  her  tongue  is  dripping  with 


22  DEEP    WATERS. 

reply,  which  was  not  very  satisfactory  to  his 
ward,  who  was  looking  at  the  old  minister  in 
surprise. 

''I  thought  surely  you  would  congratulate 
me,"  said  Ernest,  with  a  faint,  forced  smile. 

''The  ides  of  March  have  come,  but  not 
gone,"  answered  Mr.  Hillston,  shaking  his 
head. 

•'I  do  not  understand  you,  Mr.  Hillston." 
''How  can  I  congratulate  you,  my  dear  boy, 
when  I  cannot  foresee  the  end?" 
''Can  you  do  that  in  any  case,  sir?  " 
''True  enough:  but  sometimes,  and  in  some 
cases,  we  fear  the  termination." 

"Please  do  not  speak  in  riddles,  Mr.  Hill- 
ston.    Is  not  the  prospect  flattering?" 

"In  one  sense,  yes.  So  far  as  material  pros- 
perity is  concerned,  I  can  see  no  possible 
objection.  But  money,  my  dear  Ernest,  does 
not  always  bring  happiness." 

"Do  you  suppose  I  am  base  enough  to 
marry  for  money?"  interrupted  Ernest  with 
an  angry  flush. 

'"  No,  no,"  hastily  answered  Mr.  Hillston. 
"I  have  a  better  opinion  of  you  than  th^t. 
But  the  world  judges  of  marriages  by  outward 
circumstances.     If  both   parties  start  out   in 


THE   YOUNG   GRADUATE.  23 

life  with  great  wealth,  people  generally  think 
they  are  happy  matches.  But  there  are  other 
things  to  be  considered  in  a  woman  besides 
wealth,  beauty  and  external  accomplishments. 
A  good,  solid  moral  character  is  of  far  more 
value  than  a  great  fortune.  A  woman's  char- 
acter is  the  first  thing  to  be  considered. 
Sometimes  young  people  hurry  into  marriage 
without  ever  pausing  to  ascertain  whether 
there  may  not  be  incompatibilities  and  incon- 
gruities that  will  forever  exclude  happiness 
from  their  abode.  Now,  my  dear  boy,  have 
you  thought  of  all  this  ?" 

"  Certainly  I  have,"  replied  Ernest,  impa- 
tiently. ''Do  you  mean  to  insinuate  that  Miss 
Vanclure  is  destitute  of  moral  worth  ?" 

"  I  did  not  say  that.  I  only  asked  if  you 
had  thought  about,  as  I  should  have  said,  the 
dissimilarity  of  your  characters."  But,  notic- 
ing Ernest's  expression  of  dissatisfaction,  "  I 
have  not  intimated  that  Miss  Clara  is  morally 
deficient.  I  would  only  advise  you  to  be  cau- 
tious. In  such  matters,  young  people  should 
'  make  haste  slowly.'  However,  I  do  not  pre- 
sume to  give  you  advice  on  this  subject. 
Every  man  must  choose  to  suit  himself." 


24  DEEP    WATERS. 

"The  choice  I  have  made,"  said  Ernest 
quickly.  ''  suits  me." 

"  Then  there  is  nothing  more  to  be  said," 
replied  Mr.  Hills  ton  coolly. 

"But  you  do  not  seem  to  like  it." 

"That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  It  is  your 
affair,  and  if  you  are  pleased,  no  one  else  has 
the  right  to  say  a  word." 

"Mr.  Hillston,"  said  Ernest,  suddenly  low- 
ering his  voice  from  the  high  key  of  self-suffi- 
ciency and  independence  to  a  subdued  tone. 
"  you  have  been  a  father  to  me,  and  you  know 
I  have  been  guided  by  you.  I  have  confidence 
in  your  judgment;  and  now  if  you  see  me 
about  to  commit  an  error,  one  that  may  wreck 
my  happiness,  ought  not  common  charit}^  to 
say  nothing  of  the  relation  you  sustain  to  me, 
induce  you  to  kindly  point  out  my  mistake  ( 
I  can  see  clearly  that  you  are  not  pleased  at 
my  prospective  marriage.  Now  tell  me  plain- 
ly what  is  the  matter?" 

'^  My  dear  Ernest,"  said  the  old  man,  with 
the  tenderness  of  a  parent,  "you  know  that  I 
have  ever  treated  3^ou  as  one  of  my  own  chil- 
dren, and  have  ever  consulted  your  interest. 
I  Avonld  not  hesitate  to  give  you  advice  in  this 


THE   YOUNG   GKADUATE.  25 

important  matter  if  I  knew  how.     I  will  only 
say  this,  if  you  will  take  no  oflfeiice— *' 

'•No,  no,"  interrupted  Ernest  eagerly,  *' I 
will  not.     Go  on,  say  what  you  please.'' 

"  Well,  then,  I  fear  that  the  great  dissimi- 
larity between  your  characters  may  prove  a 
source  of  annoyance,  if  not  trouble.  You  are 
grave  and  serious  in  your  disposition,  while 
Miss  Clara  is  the  very  opposite." 

"That  maybe  true,"  replied  Ernest,  "but 
might  not  this  very  dissimilarity  be  an  advan- 
tage to  both  of  us  ?" 

"  It  might,  and  then  it  might  not.  At  any 
rate,  therein  lies  the  danger  I  apprehend. 
You  ought  to  pray  to  God  to  direct  you  in  so 
serious  a  business  as  this." 

"  But  I  am  not  a  churchraan,  Mr.  Hillston." 

"  You  cannot  regard  God  then  as  your 
friend?" 

"  0  yes,  I  suppose  He  is ;  but  I  do  not  know 
that  God  would  concern  Himself  with  so  small 
an  affair  as  my  marriage." 

"  What!  if  God  takes  note  of  the  flight  of 
the  sparrow,  and  the  flower  of  the  field,  think 
you  He  will  totally  overlook  the  welfare  of 
His  intelligent  creatures  ?    Do  you  not  believe 


26  DEEP   WATERS. 

the  Lord  has  something  to  do  with  everything 
that  happens  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  sir.  I  am  no  Presbyterian. 
I  understand  they  hold  to  some  such  doctrine 
as  that.  But  I  ha\^e  never  had  any  special 
liking  for  that  denomination." 

''Neither  am  I  a  Presbyterian.  I  am  a 
Baptist,  as  you  know.  But  do  you  suppose 
that  Presbyterians  are  the  only  people  who 
advocate  the  doctrine  of  special  providence  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know  that  they  are,  but  from  all 
that  I  can  learn,  they  push  it  to  extremes." 

"  I  believe  it,"  said  Mr.  Hillston,  emphat- 
ically, "  as  firmly  as  any  Presbyterian  I  ever 
saw,  and  I  believe  it  to  its  fullest  extent,  and 
in  all  its  bearings.  I  am  not  willing  that  the 
Presbyterians  shall  claim  as  a  distinctive 
dogma  of  theirs  a  doctrine  to  which  the  Bap- 
tist Church  holds  with  as  much  tenacity  as 
they  do." 

''  Do  you  believe,  then,  that  God  would  con- 
cern Himself  with  so  small  a  matter  as  the 
marriage  of  two  human  beings?" 

"  I  certainty  do." 

"Do  you  believe,  then,  that  God  is  a  match- 
maker ?"  asked  Ernest,  with  a  laugh. 


THE    YOUNG   GRADUATE.  27 

"  I  believe  God  will  direct  His  people  in  all 
their  affairs,  when  tliey  ask  Him  in  faith." 

''  But  suppose  I  am  not  one  of  His  people?" 

"If  you  are  not,"  said  Mr.  Hillston,  with 
deep  solemnity,  ''  I  am  very  sorry  for  you.  It 
is  your  own  fault,  if  you  are  not." 

"  Would  it  be  of  any  avail  for  me  to  ask 
God's  direction,  when  I  am  not  one  of  His  peo- 
ple, as  you  call  them?" 

"  Not  if  you  are  determined  to  go  on  in  your 
sins.  If  you  make  a  full  surrender  of  your- 
self to  Him,  I  have  no  doubt  He  will  assist 
and  guide  you.  However,  in  that  case  you 
would  be  one  of  His  people.  But  how  could 
you  expect  God's  favor  and  friendship,  if  you 
stand  to  Him  in  the  relation  of  an  enemy  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  answered  Ernest  thought- 
fully, and  then  after  a  moment  he  added,  ''  I 
suppose  I  will  have  to  look  out  for  myself." 

"  I  dislike  to  hear  you  talk  that  way,  my 
dear  boy,"  said  Mr.  Hillston  kindly,  "  for  if 
you  proclaim  your  independence  of  the  Divine 
Being,  you  will  lead  a  most  wretched  life." 

''  I  did  not  mean  that  in  any  spirit  of  irrev- 
erence," quickly  answered  Ernest.  '^  All  I 
meant  was  that,  if  I  was  not  one  of  God's  peo- 
ple, I  would  have  to  take  care  of  myself.     I 


28  DEEP   WATERS. 

have  the  utmost  respect  for  the  Christian 
religion.  My  conduct,  as  you  know,  has 
proved  that  I  have." 

"  Yes,  I  l^now  3^ou  are  a  moralist,  and  you 
may  be  one  of  God's  children,  notwithstand- 
ing the  fact  that  you  are  living  in  sin." 

''  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Ernest. 

"I  know  you  do  not,  but  the  time  may  come 
when  you  will.  I  will  pray  God  to  direct  3^ou, 
since  you  cannot  do  so  for  yourself.  His  will, 
no  doubt,  will  be  accomplished.  You  have 
not  married  Clara  yet,  and  perhaps  you  may 
never  do  so." 

"But  I  rather  think  I  will,"  said  Ernest 
with  considerable  energy. 

"My  boy,  do  not  speak  so  positively.  If 
God  does  not  intend  that  it  shall  be  so,  you 
will  never  marry  her." 

"I  should  like  to  know  what  is  to  prevent 
it?" 

"I  know  not.  But  remember,  'Man  pro- 
poses, but  God  disposes.'  You  cannot  over- 
come your  Maker." 

"  I  do  not  propose  to  enter  into  any  contest 
with  God ;  because  I  do  not  think  He  cares 
whether  I  do  this  thing  or  that  thing.  There- 
fore I  repeat  that  I  will  marry  Clara." 


THE    YOUNa   GRADUATE.  29 

**When  it  happens,"  said  Mr.  Hillston, 
smiling,  "we  will  talk  more  about  it.  Do  not 
be  too  confident,  my  boy." 

Ernest  went  to  his  oflSice,  wondering  what  in 
the  world  the  old  preacher  could  mean.  Did 
he  intend  to  predict  that  the  "consummation 
to  be  devoutly  wished,"  at  least  by  himself, 
would,  at  last,  prove  only  an  idle  dream? 
What  would  be  the  use,  he  thought,  of  asking 
God  to  direct  him  in  so  simple  an  afi'air  as  a 
marriage  ?  Besides,  it  was  too  late  now.  Like 
CfBsar,  he  had  crossed  the  Rubicon,  and  he 
must  go  on.  He  loved  Clara  with  all  his 
heart — why,  then,  should  he  not  fulfill  his 
engagement?     He  would  do  it. 

Alas !  how  short-sighted  is  man  ?  How 
quickly  are  his  deep-laid  schemes,  his  skill- 
fully-concocted plans,  suddenly  overthrown 
by  some  unforseen  circumstance  which  had 
never  entered  as  a  factor  into  his  calcula- 
tions? Man  is  frequently  standing  on  the 
very  verge  of  a  volcano,  and  knows  it  not  till 
the  soil  crumbles^  beneath  his  feet. 


CHAPTER  II. 


A  GREAT  CHANGE. 


It  is  sometimes  tlie  case  that  we  have  premo- 
nitions that  vaguely  forewarn  us  of  approach- 
ing ill  fortune.  Not  a  cloud  appears  above 
the  horizon  of  our  life,  and  yet  we  instinct- 
ively shrink  from  an  undeiinable  something 
that  seems  to  reach  far  out  in  advance  of  the 
shadow  of  coming  events.  Probably  there 
are  powers  in  the  human  mind  whose  develop- 
ment has  been  prevented  by  the  dread  of 
superstition.  The  animal  seeks  shelter  from 
the  approaching  storm  before  man  has  dis- 
covered the  slightest  indication  of  atmos- 
pheric disturbance,  or  whatever  it  may  be 
that  warns  the  unreasoning  brute  of  impend- 
ing danger.  May  there  not  be  some  similar 
delicate  instinct  in  man  that  perceives  the 
advancing  peril  while  it  is  still  below  the 
horizon  of  reality  ?  Who  knows  ?  Or  dis- 
carding human  philosophy  as  insufficient  to 
furnish  a  solution,  may  we  not  regard  this 
30 


A    GEEAT   CHANGE.  81 

shadowy  mene  tekel  upliarsin  as  an  emana- 
tion from  a  supernatural  source  ?  Men  are  so 
skeptical  and  incredulous  and  so  afraid  of 
"  superstition  "  that  they  will  attribute  incom- 
prehensible events  to  any  cause  rather  than 
divine  interposition.  Some  assume  that  mir- 
acles never  have  been  performed ;  and  others, 
that  the  days  of  miracles  have  passed  away, 
and  in  consequence  of  this  assumption,  they 
ascribe  nothing  to  the  hand  of  Omnipotence. 
Evolution,  correlated  forces,  natural  selection, 
origin  of  species,  and  such  terms  have  left  no 
place  in  the  nomenclature  of  science  for  the 
recognition  of  the  hand  of  Deity.  Unholy 
skepticism  declares  that  divine  direction  in 
the  affairs  of  men  is  but  the  unfounded  fancy 
of  religious  fanaticism.  But  we  do  know  that 
in  ancient  times  the  Lord  sent  warnings 
through  the  medium  of  dreams  and  visions. 
By  what  authority  do  we  assume  that  such 
means  of  communication  have  been  abolished? 
At  any  rate,  such  a  feeling-,  a  feeling  of  vague 
uneasiness,  mingled  with  the  thoughts  of 
Ernest  Edgefield.  He  was  engaged  to  be  mar- 
ried, and  had  the  utmost  confidence  in  the 
fidelity  and  stability  of  his  affianced ;  and  yet 
he  was  disturbed  by  a  dim,  indistinct  sense 


32  DEEP   WATERS. 

of  unrest,  which  defied  all  efforts  of  analysis. 
It  was  like  trying  to  follow  an  obscure  mist 
by  the  uncertain  light  of  the  moon.  He 
endeavored  to  reason  himself  out  of  his  fool- 
ish apprehensions.  What  had  he  to  fear? 
The  course  of  his  own  true  love  seemed  to  be 
running  smooth.  In  a  few  weeks  the  engage- 
ment would  be  consummated.  Then,  why 
this  dread  ?  Was  it  not,  after  all,  produced 
by  Mr.  Hillston's  ambiguous  innuendoes  ? 
But  what  made  the  old  preacher  disbelieve,  or 
at  least  doubt,  that  his  marriage  with  Miss  Van- 
clure  would  ever  take  place  ?  There  was  no 
rival  in  the  case  to  awaken  his  jealousy.  In- 
deed, he  felt  a  little  vexed  at  his  kind  guardian 
for  throwing  out  such  insinuations.  Then  he 
would  endeavor  to  banish  the  indefinable 
dread  which  had  seized  upon  him.  We  who 
have  passed  through  the  scenes  of  youth, 
know  something  of  the  petty  follies,  the  dis- 
quiet, the  foolish  ennui  at  times,  which 
distinguish  the  young  man  whose  heart  has 
been  lacerated  by  the  golden  arrow  of  the 
mischievous  little  son  of  Yenus.  Ernest 
rarely  failed  to  call  once  a  day  at  the  enchant- 
ing domicile  of  his  intended,  and  if  he  failed, 
he  frequently  made  atonement  for  his  negli- 


A   GREAT   CHANGE.  33 

gence  by  two  visits  on  the  next  day  While 
he  was  in  this  state  of  cardiac  effervescence, 
the  wheels  of  time  rolled  on,  unfolding 
events  which  had  slumbered  so  long  in 
the  bosom  of  the  future.  Who  can  tell  what 
a  day  may  bring  forth  ?  Amid  the  multitu- 
dinous events  that  are  continully  rushing 
into  reality,  like  the  soldiers  of  an  army  in 
the  charge,  who  can  make  provision  against 
those  unforseen  contingencies  which  are 
forever  arising  ?  Who  can  control  the  chariot 
of  destiny  ? 

Perhaps  no  event  was  so  little  expected  as 
that  which  seemed  to  change  the  current  of 
Ernest's  destiny,  a  few  weeks  antecedent  to 
his  contemplated  marriage.  Not  to  delay 
with  moralizing,  an  Evangelist  by  the  name  of 
Coyt  made  his  advent  into  the  quiet  town 
where  Ernest  lived,  on  the  invitation  of  the 
Presbyterian  church.  Great  expectations  had 
been  formed  by  many  of  *  the  more  pious 
brethren,  who  had  read  accounts  of  Dr.  Coyt's 
wonderful  success  at  other  places.  His  ser- 
vices were  eagerlj^  desired  and  sought  all  over 
the  country. 

At  last  he  entered  the  little  town  of  

and  began  a   series  of  earnest,  soul-search- 


34  DEEP    WATERS. 

iiig  sermons,  which  he  had  repeated  so  often 
that  he  could  frequently  predict  what  result 
would  follow  the  delivery  of  each.  Large, 
expectant  congregations  attended  his  meet- 
ings from  the  very  outset,  since  his  evangelist- 
ic fame  had  preceded  him.  For  several  days 
the  preacher  produced  no  great  visible  eifects, 
and  there  were  scarcely  any  signs  of  spiritual 
life,  except  such  as  were  discernible  in  the 
numerous  petitions  sent  in  by  anxious  breth- 
ren, requesting  prayer  for  sons,  daughters, 
wives,  or  other  relatives  and  friends.  At 
length  this  request  was  read  out  to  the  con- 
gregation : 

"Please  pray  for  a  young  lawyer,  who  is 
moral  and  worthy  in  every  respect,  but  is 
lacking  the  one  thing  needful." 

Ernest  was  present,  and  heard  the  reading 
of  this  petition.  Who  could  it  be  but  him- 
self ?  At  first,  a  flash  of  displeasure,  to  call 
it  by  the  mildest  name,  passed  over  his  hand- 
some face.  Who  was  the  person  that  had 
the  impudence  to  direct  attention  to  him  ?  But 
all  harsh  thoughts  soon  passed  away,  when 
he  reflected  that  the  petitioner,  whoever  it 
might  be,  desired  only  his  good.  The  process 
of  rigid  introspection  succeeded  his  first  un- 


A    GREAT   CHAXGE.  35 

pleasant  thoughts,  and  he  at  once  gave  atten- 
tion to   the   contest  between  conscience  and 
passion  that  had  mysteriously   begun.     He 
seemed  to  be  only  a  spectator  of  the  conflict 
of  antagonistic  forces  in  his  soul.     There  are 
times,   says   one   of  the  most  profound  and 
philosophical  women  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury, when  our  passions  speak  for  us,  and  we 
stand  by  and  look  on  in  astonishment.     There 
is  something  similar  to  this   in  the  process 
of  spiritual  regeneration.     Questions  and  an- 
swers suddenly  arise  in  the  mind,  as  of  con- 
cealed beings  in  whispered  consultation,  and 
we  appear  to  ourselves  to  be  listening  to  the 
mysterious  dialogue.     So  it  was  with  Ernest 
Edgefield,  as  he  sat  in  the  church  engaged  in 
self-examination.     It  appeared  to  him  that  he 
had  suddenly  awakened  out  of  an  alarming- 
dream.     He  had  been  in  a  moral  sleep  all  his 
life,  and  had  never  reflected  seriously  upon 
the  unknown  eternity  which  was  distant  but 
a  single  step.     A  "still  small  voice"  seemed  to 
come  on  the   very    breeze,   and    whispered : 
"  What  folly  this  young  man  has  displayed  in 
thinking  of  nothing  but  the  things  of   time 
and  sense."    Ernest  almost  started.     "What 
am  I  living  for?"  he  asked  himself.     "In  a 


36  DEEP    WATERS. 

few  weeks  I  shall  be  married,  and  will  give 
renewed  attention  to  business.  But  time  will 
flow  on  :  and  if  I  live,  I  will  soon  be  an  old 
man,  and  I  must  die,  and  then — and  then — 
what  ?"  Ernest  was  neither  infidel  nor  skep- 
tic :  indeed,  he  only  needed  that  his  fears 
should  be  aroused  as  a  precedent  condition  to 
becoming  an  active  Christian.  After  prayer 
had  been  offered  up  for  the  "young  lawyer," 
and  while  thoughts,  conclusions  and  convic- 
tions were  all  mingling  together  in  the  mind 
of  Ernest,  he  looked  at  Clara,  who  was  sitting 
where  he  could  see  her  face.  Their  eyes  met. 
She  was  gazing  at  him  with  an  expression 
which  he  could  easily  interpret,  and  if  she  had 
spoken  in  an  audible  voice,  he  could  not  more 
clearly  have  understood  her  to  say :  "Isn't  it 
ridiculous  ?"  The  young  man  almost  shud- 
dered. Why  did  a  great  yawning  abyss  seem 
to  open  suddenly  between  them  ?  The  depres- 
sion which  had  for  some  days  weighed  down 
his  spirits,  all  at  once  appeared  like  a  heavy 
rock  upon  his  breast,  causing  something  like 
a  sickening  sensation  to  creep  through  his 
troubled  heart.  However,  in  his  present  state 
of  newly  aroused  emotions,  to  which  he  had 
been  such  an  utter  stranger  all  his  life,  he  felt 


A   GREAT   CHANGE.  37 

that  a  subject  of  more  vital  importance  than 
even   his   marriage   deserved  his    immediate 
attention.     Accordingly  he   turned  his   gaze 
upon  the  preacher,  who  announced  his  text : 
"Thou   art  weighed  in  the   balances,  and  art 
found  wanting."     Dr.  Coyt,  in  the  progress  of 
his   discourse,     drew    a    word-picture,    upon 
which  his  audience  gazed  in  profound,  breath- 
less silence.     INTo  one  looked  upon  this  picture 
more   intently   than  Ernest.     He  saw  himself 
alone  witli  his  Creator  and  the  balances  which 
were   to   determine  his     everlasting   destiny. 
]N"ever  before  had  Ernest's  relations  'to  time 
and   eternity   appeared  in   so   vivid  a  light. 
The  next  morning  after  this,  as  the  sun  kissed 
the  glowing  horizon,  darkness  and  doubt  were 
dispelled  from  the  soul  of  Ernest  by  the  en- 
lightening beams  of  the  Sun  of  Righteousness. 
He  had  found  that  "peace  which  passeth  all 
understanding,"  and  he  was  strangely  happy. 

That  day,  without  sajang  a  word  to  any 
one  upon  the  subject,  he  went  forward  to  indi- 
cate his  purpose  of  joining  the  church. 

"Which  church  do  you  desire  to  join?" 
asked  Dr.  Coyt. 

"  I  have  not  yet  determined,"  replied  Ernest. 
"  I  only  wish  now  to  let  it  be  known  that  I 


38  DEEP   WATERS. 

have  come  out  upon  the  Lord's  side.  I  intend 
to  investigate  the  doctrines  of  the  different 
denominations,  and  I  shall  join  that  one  I 
like  best." 

"  That  is  right,"  replied  the  Doctor.  ''  Take 
time  for  reflection,  so  that  you  will  have  no 
trouble  in  the  future.  Select  that  church  in 
which  you  think  you  can  be  the  happiest." 

Those  who  feel   any  interest  in  this   story 
will,  of  course,  desire  to  know  what  effect  the 
meeting  had  upon  Clara.     Ernest  had  been 
so  absorbed  in  his  own  spiritual  troubles  that 
he  had  had  no   conversation  with  her  since 
the  hour  when  he  had  become  interested  upon 
the   subject    of  his  personal  salvation.     But 
that  evening,  after  he  had  signified  his  inten- 
tion of  attaching  himself  to  the   church,  he 
paid  her  a  visit.     She  was  not  present  at  the 
morning  service,  and  knew  nothing  of  the  step 
he  had  taken.     After  the  exchange  of  ordi- 
nary  civilities,  she    said    with   a   significant 
flippancy   which    was    chilling    to    Ernest's 
heart : 
*'  How  have  you  enjoyed  the  show  ?" 
"  Show !"  exclaimed  Ernest,  bestowing  upon 
her  a  solemn  look  of  inquiry. 

"  Yes,"  said  Clara,   not  seeming  to  notice 


A    GREAT   CHANGE.  39 

his  serious  air.  "  It  is  as  good  as  any  show. 
Wasn't  it  funny  to  have  tliem  all  praying  for 
you?" 

"I  do  not  see  where  there  was  any  fun," 
said  Ernest  with  an  expression  of  disappoint- 
ment upon  his  face,  "  and  I  am  truly  sorr}^ 
to  hear  you  talk  so  lightly  about  such  solemn 
things.    They  are  too  sacred  to  admit  of  sport." 

'^  So,  they  have  got  you,  too,  have  they  ?" 
asked  Clara,  breaking  into  a  merry  laugh. 
''  Well,  I  confess  I  am  astonished." 

''  Why  should  you  be  f '  I  cannot  see  that  it 
is  a  matter  of  such  profound  amazement  for  a 
man  to  join  the  church." 

"Have  you  really  joined  the  church?" 

"I  have,  or  at  least  gave  notice  this  morn- 
ing that  I  would  do  so,  and  I  earnestly  wish, 
my  dear  Clara,  that  you  would  make  up  your 
mind  to  the  same  thing.  That  is  needed  to 
complete  our  happiness." 

She  made  no  reply,  but  laughed  in  a  tone 
which  it  would  have  required  no  expert  physi- 
ognomist to  prononnce  one  of  derision. 

"What  is  it  that  is  so  amusing?"  asked 
Ernest  in  vexation.  "I  had  hoped  that  you 
would  talk  seriously  about  this  matter  of  such 
vital  importance." 


40.  DEEP    WATERS. 

"The  idea  of  my  joining  the  church,  and 
giving  up  my  dancing  and  all  other  amuse- 
ments, is  simply  preposterous.    It  is  funny." 

"But  suppose  you  were  to  die,"  said  Ernest, 
"  what  would  become  of  you  ?  Are  you  willing 
to  sacrifice  your  soul  for  a  few  worldly 
pleasures  which,  after  all,  add  nothing  to  your 
happiness^" 

"  Why,  are  you  going  to  turn  preacher, 
too?"  said  Clara  with  an  amused  expression. 
"That's  just  the  way  Dr.  Coyt  has  been 
preaching  for  the  last  five  or  six  days." 

"I  am  no  preacher,  and  never  expect  to  be," 
replied  Ernest,  "  but  that  is  no  reason  why  I 
should  not  want  my  friends  saved,  especially 
such  a  friend  as  you  will  be." 

Clara  bit  her  cherry  nether  lip,  and  laying 
aside  lier  mood  of  levity,  said  : 

"  I  should  like  to  know  what  we  are  to  do  in 
this  world,  if  we  are  forbidden  to  enjoy  life. 
That  is  what  I  dislike  about  religious  people. 
They  are  so  gloomy,  and  can  talk  about  noth- 
ing but  death.     I  hate  to  be  with  tliem." 

This  was  spoken  in  such  a  way  as  to  cause 
Ernest  to  see  again  the  yawning  chasm  gap- 
ing between  them. 

"0,  my   dear    Clara!"  he   exclaimed  with 


A    GREAT   CHANGE.  41 

trembling  tenderness,  "how  you  are  mis- 
taken !" 

"  Wliy,  how  do  you  know  ?"  she  asked  in 
surprise.  "You  have  not  been  one  of  them 
long  enough  to  find  out,  I  should  think. 
How  did  you  become  so  wise,  all  of  a 
sudden  ?" 

Ernest  was  not  at  all  pleased  with  the  manner 
in  which  she  addressed  him,  but  he  durst  not 
manifest  the  least  vexation  in  the  critical 
juncture  of  his  amatory  affairs.  He  felt  that 
a  quarrel  might  terminate  in  a  final  overthrow 
of  the  fond  hopes  upon  which  his  heart  had 
fed  for  months  past.  He,  therefore,  spoke  as 
mildly  and  affectionately  as  possible  : 

"I  have  learned  something  about  it  even  in 
the  last  few  hours.  I  have  never  experienced 
such  a  sense  of  love,  joy  and  peace  in  all  my 
previous  life.  I  am  astonished  at  myself  for 
never  having  turned  my  attention  sooner  to 
eternal  things.  All  these  years,  since  I 
reached  the  line  of  moral  responsibility,  have 
been  almost  wasted,  or,  at  least,  the  spiritual 
enjoyments  of  all  this  time  have  been  lost  to 
me  ;  and  how  I  regret  it !" 

"  How  you  do  talk  ?"  exclaimed  Clara.  "  Do 
you  expect  to  keep  up  such  lecturing  all  our 
lives  ?    If  you  do,  we  may  as  well — " 


42  DEEP    WATERS. 

"  May  as  well  what  ?"  asked  Ernest  with  a 
sinking  heart. 

*'  May  as  well  follow  divergent  paths,'-  she 
said  with  a  timidity  which  implied  that  she, 
by  no  means,  desired  the  proposition  to  be  ac- 
cepted. 

"  No,  my  dear  Clara,  I  shall  not  mention  it 
again  if  it  is  nnpleasant  to  you.  I  shall  leave 
you  in  the  hands  of  God  and  continue  to  pray 
for  you.  I  think  vou  will  take  a  different  view 
of  the  matter  after  a  while." 

"  But  I  would  as  soon  3^ou  would  talk  to  me 
as  to  look  at  me  as  if  I  w^ere  a  criminal." 

"  I  do  not  think,"  said  Ernest,  "  that  religion 
will  convert  me  into  a  long  faced  monk.  On 
the  contrary,  I  expect  to  be  more  cheerful  and 
happy  than  I  could  be  otherwise.  You  are 
the  one  to  look  solemn  and  gloomy." 

"  You  expect,"  said  Clara,  not  appearing  to 
notice  the  last  remark,  "  you  expect  to  give  up 
dancing,  as  most  church  people  do." 

"  Certainly.  I  cannot  do  violence  to  my 
conscience  by  indulging  in  an  amusement 
which  I  regard  as  of  doubtful  propriety,  to  say 
the  least  of  it." 

"  Where  is  the  harm  in  dancing  ?  Church 
people  condemn  it,  but  I  never  could  see  any 
sin  in  it — not  the  least." 


A    GREAT   CHANGE.  43 

"  But  there  would  be  sin  in  it  to  me  with  my 
present  views,"  said  Ernest. 

"You  used  to  like  it  as  well  as  I  did." 
"  Yes,  that  is  true ;  but  the  time  has  come 
when  I  must  and  will  renounce  it." 
'*  You  expect  me  to  give  it  up,  too?" 
"  That  is  a  matter  to  be  determined  by  your 
own  conscience.     I  shall  not  interfere." 

"  There  is  the  theatre — you  will  give  that  up 
too?" 

''  I  feel  that  I  must  do  that,  too." 
"Then."   said   Clara  with   a   slight  frown, 
"  what  congeniality  of  taste   and  pursuits  is 
there  between  us  ?" 

"  Why,  my  loved  one,"  said  Ernest  with  a 
smile,  "fortunately  theatres  and  dances  oc- 
cupy but  a  small  portion  of  our  time." 
"  Who  will  escort  me  when  I  want  to  go?" 
Ernest  loved  his  affianced  with  such  an  in- 
tensity that  he  dreaded  to  get  into  an  unpleas- 
ant controversy  that  might  culminate  fatally 
to  his  hopes.  If  he  were  too  puritanical  and 
inflexible,  he  thought,  she  might  sever  all  the 
ties  between  them— an  event  which  made  him 
shudder  to  contemplate ;  so  he  replied  : 

"  All  congeniality  of  taste  between  us  need 
not  be  destroyed  because  you  may  fancy  some 


44  DEEP    WATERS. 

amusements  which  I  do  not.  It  could  scarce- 
ly be  expected  that  two  human  beings  should 
think  exactly  alike.  With  regard  to  your 
dancing,  I  leave  it  to  your  conscience  and  to 
time  whicli  usually  destroys  our  relish  for 
most  of  the  sports  and  enjoyments  of  youth. 
I  have  strong  hopes  that  you  will  sooner  or 
later  perceive  the  necessity  of  leaving  the 
paths  of  moral  ruin  and  renouncing  the  pleas- 
ures of  sin  for  the  more  solid  and  substantial 
pleasures  of  religion." 

Clara  said  nothing,  but  sat  still  gazing 
into  the  forest  which  spread  out  in  the  dis- 
tance— gazing  with  that  vacant  air  which  indi- 
cates the  absence  of  attention  to  any  object 
upon  which  her  eyes  might  be  fixed.  Ernest 
could  form  no  idea  as  to  the  character  of  her 
thoughts  from  the  expression  of  her  fair  coun- 
tenance, and  he  began  to  fear  that  he  had  said 
too  much,  and  thought  that  perhaps  he  would 
better  endeavor  to  remove  every  difficulty  that 
might  prove  an  obstacle  to  their  union.  He 
did  not  want  to  leave  any  grounds  for  one  of 
those  unfortunate  misunderstandings  between 
lovers  which  so  frequently  grow  out  of  nothing. 
He  therefore  said  with  an  all* of  cheerfulness 
and  tenderness  ; 


A    GKEAT   CHANGE.  45 

"  You  need  not  suppose,  my  loved  one,  that 
I  will  be  forever  preacliing  to  you.  That  is 
not  my  calling.  Have  I  given  you  offence  by 
anything  I  have  said?  I  mean  by  all  I  have 
said  only  that  there  is  a  time  for  all  things — a 
time  to  dance  and  a  time  to  give  religion  a 
prominent  place  in  our  thoughts." 

"  O,  no  ;  I'm  not  offended,  but  you  make  me 
feel  gloomy.  It  is  bad  enough  to  hear  these 
things  about  death  at  church,  where  we  expect 
it.  I  didn't  know  that  we  had  to  make  religion 
a  topic  of  private  conversation." 
•  "  No,  we  are  not  forced  to  do  so  ;  but  I 
thought  it  a  suitable  time  to  talk  about  it  now 
when  the  subject  is  occupying  the  attention  of 
the  whole  community." 

"I  candidly  confess  I  don't  like  to  talk 
about  such  things,"  said  Clara  with  a  serious 
air.  "  I  have  always  had  a  sort  of  horror  of 
religion.  In  my  mind  it  is  associated  with 
death  and  other  disagreeable  things." 

"  But  these  disagreeable  things,"  said  Er- 
nest, "  as  you  call  them,  are  stubborn  realities 
which  we  cannot  avoid.  Sooner  or  later,  we 
must  face  them,  whether  we  like  or  not. 
Would  we  not,  then,  better  regulate  our  lives 
so  that  these  very  gloomy  things  shall  become 
sources  of  pleasure  ?" 


46  DEEP   WATERS. 

"  0,  I  suppose  so,"  said  Clara  dryly,  "  if 
death  could  ever  be  a  pleasant  subject  of  con- 
versation." 

''  Not  long  since,"  replied  Ernest  with  the 
deepest  solemnity,  "I  entertained  the  very 
same  views  which  you  do.  I  would  not  think 
about  death  when  I  could  possibly  banish  it 
from  my  mind,  and  I  contemplated  it  for  an 
instant  as  some  horrible  monster  which  I  must 
face  after  a  while.  I  regarded  it  with  as  much 
dread  as  ever  the  celebrated  Dr.  Samuel  John- 
son did.  But  now,"  and  as  he  spoke  an 
expression  of  deep  joy  flashed  over  his  fea- 
tures, "  I  do  not  dread  the  event  as  such  an 
awful  calamity.  I  even  love  to  think  about 
it." 

"What!  do  you  want  to  die?"  cried  Clara. 

''  No :  I  did  not  say  that,"  calmly  replied 
Ernest. 

"No  man  in  the  enjoyment  of  health  really 
desires  to  die ;  for  in  some  respects,  it  is  a 
terrible  ordeal  from  which  poor,  weak  human 
nature  shrinks.  I  have  no  disposition  to  court 
death  :  I  want  to  live  for  your  sake,  for  you 
know  with  what  depth  and  intensity  I  love 
you,  and  loving  3^ou  thus,  I  should  like,  above 
all   things,   to   see   you  in   a   condition   that 


A    GREAT    CHANOE.  47 

would  enable  you  to  exclaim  with  rapture,  'O 
death,  where  is  thy  sting?  O  grave,  where  is 
thy  victory  ?'  What  a  happy  thought  to  me 
that  we  should  be  one  on  earth,  and  then 
when  we  cross  over  the  dark  river,  our  purified 
souls  should  be  knit  together  in  the  bonds 
of  a  higher,  nobler  affection  than  is  possible 
here ;  and  then  that  we  should  stroll  hand-in- 
hand  in  the  heavenly  groves,  along  the  banks 
of  the  crystal  river,  under  the  fruit  trees 
whose  leaves  are  for  the  healing  of  the  nations, 
never  more  to  be  disturbed  by  any  misappre- 
hensions, nor  even  by  a  discordant  word  or 
thought.  We  shall  be  one  in  heart,  soul  and 
mind.  This  is  what  I  call  true  marriage.  It 
is  a  contract  not  to  end  with  tiuie,  but  it  goes 
on  through  the  numberless  ages  of  eternity. 
O,  what  a  glorious  prospect !"  he  exclaimed 
with  features  lit  up  with  pure,  holy  joy  ;  and 
then  he  paused  for  an  instant  as  if  over- 
whelmed and  lost  in  the  contemplation  of 
indescribable  scenes  which  ''  eye  hath  not  seen 
nor  ear  heard,  neither  have  entered  into  the 
heart  of  man."  After  a  moment  he  continued : 
''  On  the  other  hand,  what  an  awful  thought! 
It  makes  me  shudder.  O,  if  you  remain  as 
you  now  are,  we  shall  be  separated  forever. 


48  DEEP   WATERS. 

when  we  part  at  the  grave.  Then  where  will 
you  go  ?  If  you  miss  the  glory-land,  there  is 
only  one  more  place — the  lake  that  burns 
with  fire  and  brimstone — a  place  where  their 
worm  dieth  not  and  the  lire  is  not  quenched. 
If  there  is  no  lire  there,  as  some  contend,  then 
it  is  a  place  of  black,  thick  darkness.  The 
lost  soul,  cast  out  into  the  illimitable  regions 
of  uninhabited  space,  away  beyond  the  last 
star  that  glitters  on  the  outskirts  of  visible 
creation,  will  go  wandering  round  and  round, 
or  if  too  weary  to  make  an  effort,  it  will  begin 
falling,  like  a  bird  with  folded  wings,  and 
keep  on  falling,  falling,  down  and  down, 
forever  down — no  company  but  your  own 
thoughts — no  sound  heard  but  youv  own 
breathing — no  sweet  music — no  voice  of  friend 
— no  light — nothing  but  the  horrors  of  eternal, 
impenetrable  darkness.  You  may  suppose 
you  will  have  companions — but  what  will  be 
their  character?  Not  kind  friends,  to  speak 
words  of  consolation,  but  malevolent  fiends 
whose  delight  it  will  be  to  torment.  All  the 
horrors  so  graj)hically  described  by  Dante 
may  be  awful  realities.  Can  you  blame  me, 
then,  for  feeling  the  deepest  anxiety  on  your 
account?     I  should  be  the  happiest  man  in 


A   GEE  AT   CHAl^GE.  49 

town  if  you  could  make  up  your  mind  to  join 
tlie  church." 

^'0,  I  could  not  think  of  such  a  thing!" 
exclaimed  Clara.  "You  have  already  given 
me  the  blues.  I  fear  you  will  never  be  your- 
self again.  You  are  so  changed.  But  read- 
ing that  awful  old  Dante  is  enough  to  frighten 
any  one  out  of  his  senses.  I  tried  to  read  it 
not  long  since,  but  it  was  so  foolish  and 
absurd,  I  dropped  it  in  disgust.  But  haven't 
you  preached  long  enough  VI  do  believe 
you  will  be  a  preacher  yet." 

"No;  I  have  no  such  idea  as  that.  But  I 
should  be  sorry  to  think  that  preachers  are 
the  only  persons  to  whom  it  is  allowable  to 
talk  about  religion.  However,  I  am  a  changed 
man,  and  I  am  glad  you  can  perceive  it.  I 
hope  I  may  never  again  be  the  wicked  man 
I  have  been.  But  I  shall  not  further  press 
the  subject  upon  your  attention,  and  I  promise 
not  to  mention  it  again  till  you  are  in  the 
proper  mood  to  talk  about  it." 

The  foregoing  conversation  is  no  integral 
part  of  the  present  stor}^,  and  might  have 
been  omitted  entirely,  but  we  have  recorded  it 
at  length  to  show  what  different  views  young- 
people   entertain    in    regard    to   the   highest 


50  DEEP   WATERS. 

destiny  a  human  being  can  achieve.  What 
makes  such  a  vast  difference,  when  there  are 
precisely  the  same  incentives  to  action  in 
both  ?  Some  quickly  cut  the  Gordian  knot  by 
attributing  it  to  the  difference  in  their  wills, 
which,  we  may  bring  this  chapter  to  an  end 
by  saying,  is  quite  a  convenient  way  of  avoid- 
ing Beep  Waters. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  MYSTERIOUS  VOICE. 


The  protracted  meeting,  which  had  contin- 
ued fourteen  days,  was  ended.    Dr.    Coyt,  the 
Evangelist,  took  his  leave  in  order  to  carry 
blessings  to  other  places.     No  one  could  deny 
that  a  wonderful  change  had   taken  place  in 
the  moral  aspect  of  the  town.     Some,  who  had 
been  regarded  as  the  worst  characters  in  the 
community,  astonished  their  neighbors  by  an 
immediate  reformation.     Saloon-keepers  join- 
ed the  church.      Gamblers   forsook  their  evil 
ways.     Lukewarm  church  members  were  fired 
with  renewed  zeal.     The  whole   town   seemed 
to  be  animated  by  one  impulse  and  one  pur- 
pose.    But  such  a  great  disturbance  of  public 
thought    could  not  in   the   nature   of  things 
be  maintained  for  any  lengthy  period.      Pub- 
lic feeling,  like  water,  seeks  its  level.   A  state 
of  effervescence  is  not  its   normal   condition. 
Consequently   the   foam-crested  waves   must 
soon  subside  into  customary  tranquillity.  Men 
return  to  their  vocations,  and  their   thoughts 

51 


52  DEEP   WATERS. 

revert  to  trade  and  traffic.  The  things  of  eter- 
nity which  had  so  recently  absorbed  attention, 
must  now  be  partly  laid  aside. 

Ernest  was  not  different  from  other  men  in 
the  general  aspect  of  human  nature.  He  too 
had  to  resume  his  books  and  legal  documents. 
Judging  from  his  outward  conduct,  no  one 
could  have  imagined  the  depth  of  the  work  of 
grace  in  his  heart.  But  internally,  he  was 
leading  a  quite  different  life.  His  energies 
were  put  forth  for  the  accomplishment  of 
one  object — his  personal  salvation.  In  the 
short  space  of  a  week  he  had  lost  that  ambi- 
tion whose  only  object  is  self-gratiti cation.  It 
is  not  meant  that  he  had  no  desire  to  excel 
and  to  rise  to  a  high  position  in  his  profession, 
for  religion  does  not  require  the  suppression 
of  every  impulse  of  this  character,  but  Ernest 
had  no  disx)osition  to  gain  victories  merely  to 
elicit  the  admiration  and  applause  of  his  fel- 
low men.  After  the  meeting,  he  endeavored 
to  apply  himself  to  business  with  his  former 
diligence.  But  there  was  one  peculiarity 
in  his  efforts  for  which  he  could  not  account, 
and  which  he  did  not  understand  clearly  till 
some  years  afterwards.  He  could  not  and  did 
not  feel  the  same  interest  in  his   profession, 


THE   MYSTERIOUS    VOICE.  53 

for  wliicli  so  lately  he  had  a  most  enthusiastic 
love.     Try  never  so  hard  to  confine  his  atten- 
tion to  his  law  books,  his  mind  would  wander 
off  to  very  unsecular  affairs.     Endeavoring  to 
plunge  into  the  profundities  of  Kent's  Com- 
mentaries,  he  would  meet  with  a   sentence  or 
a  word  which  would  remind  him  of  some  the- 
ological commentary.     Ernest,  in  a  short  time 
after  his  conversion,  had  become  so  much  in- 
terested in  the  study  of  the   Holy   Scriptures 
that  he  had  added  to  his  library  the  commen- 
taries of  Henry,  Clarke  and  Scott.      He  found 
himself  more  frequently  pondering  over  the 
signification  of  passages  of  holy  writ  than  par- 
agraphs of  law.     He  spent  much  time  in  read- 
ing and  searching  the  Scriptures — like  the  Be- 
reans — time,  which  the  spirit'  of  the  world  said 
should  have  been  given  to   the   duties   of  his 
calling.     This  internal  conflict   threw   Ernest 
into  a  state  of  perplexity.     He  was  becoming 
an  enigma  to  himself.      He  could  not  imagine 
why  his  vocation  should  become   distasteful. 
The  finger  of  destiny  was  pointing  in  a  new 
direction,  but  it  was  concealed  by  the  mists  of 
the  future.    For  some  wise  reason  the  path  of 
duty  is   not  always   clearly  indicated.     The 
divine  economy  is  so  inwrought  with  human 


54  DEEP  WATEE8. 

affairs  that  no  man  can  determine  the  extent 
of  the  supernatural  guidance  that  may  be  fur- 
nished. 

While  in  this  state  of  mind,  Ernest  went  to 
church  one  Sabbath.  The  minister,  who  was 
a  stranger,  read  the  fourteenth  chapter  of  John 
as  his  lesson,  and  at  the  proper  time  an- 
nounced as  his  text  the  first  and  second  verses 
—"  Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled.  Ye  believe 
in  God,  believe  also  in  me,"  etc.  Ernest  as- 
sumed a  comfortable  physical  posture  in  the 
expectation  of  hearing  a  soul-thrilling  sermon 
— an  expectation  justified  by  the  abundant 
consolation  which  can  be  legitimately  drawn 
from  the  entire  chapter.  There  was  a  large 
congregation  and  all  seemed  to  be  eager  to 
catch  every  word  that  should  be  uttered.  The 
preacher  began  in  a  rather  low  nasal  "whine," 
as  the  people  called  it— a  not  very  classical  term 
to  be  sure,  but  very  expressive  and  generally 
understood,  if  nothing  else  could  be  said  in  its 
favor.  His  manner  was  cold  and  not  at  all 
e?i  rapport  with  his  environments,  but  Ernest 
thought  and  hoped  that  he  would  "warm  up  " 
with  his  subject  as  he  proceeded.  He  was 
doomed  to  disappointment:  for  the  preacher 
kept  on  with  the  same  whine,  with  no  more 


THE   MYSTEEIOUS   VOICE.  55 

variation  than  there  is  in  the  ringing  of  a  bell. 
The  vocal  part  was  utterly  incongruous  with 
the  theme.  The  preacher  stood  stone  still, 
nothing  moving  but  his  lips,  and  looking  like 
a  talking  statue.  His  hands  were  gently  folded 
on  his  breast  and  his  eyes  werehxed  with  im- 
movable rigidity  upon  something  on  the  floor 
immediately  in  front  of  the  pulpit.  His  whole 
manner  was  the  best  imaginable  remedy  for 
insomnia,  Avhich  was  soon  proved  by  the  state 
of  delightful  unconsciousness  into  wliich  many 
of  the  audience  had  fallen  at  the  expiration  of 
the  first  half-hour.  Ernest  made  brave  and 
persistent  efforts  to  confine  his  attention  to 
the  minister's  monotonous  sentences  and  to 
resist  the  feeling  of  somnolence  which  was 
quietly  and  graduall}^  creeping  over  him. 
When  the  service  finally  ended,  Ernest  left 
the  church  with  a  feeling  of  spiritual  lassitude 
— a  consciousness  that  the  hour  had  been 
unprofitable,  not  to  say  that  he  was  a  little 
vexed,  too. 

"  Why  does  the  Church  send  out  such  men 
to  preach  ? "  he  asked  himself  as  he  walked 
slowly  homeward.  "  This  man's  intentions, 
no  doubt,  are  good,  but  his  education  is 
wofuU}^   deficient,  and   he   does  not  seem  to 


56  DEEP   WATERS. 

understand  the  first  rudiment  of  oratory. 
The  ecclesiastical  body  that  put  him  in  this 
responsible  position  are  more  censurable  than 
he  is.  What  a  grand  text  he  had !  If  a  man 
could  preach  at  all,  it  does  seem  that  he  could 
get  a  splendid  sermon  out  of  that  passage.  I 
believe  I  could  do  it  myself.  Let  me  see. 
There  is  that  old  college  speech  of  mine — 
Man  was  made  to  mourn, — it  would  apply 
admirably  to  the  first  head.  Look  abroad 
over  the  world.  How  many  things  there  are 
which  are  calculated  to  trouble  the  heart.  Of 
all  this  the  preacher  never  said  a  word.  I 
moved  an  audience  to  tears  with  the  same 
subject  when  there  was  nothing  but  human 
sympathy  to  which  I  could  appeal.  But  with 
the  precious  hopes  and  promises  of  the  gospel 
in  his  hands,  he  put  a  portion  of  his  congrega- 
tion to  sleep.  Then  there  are  the  blessed  man- 
sions which  the  Savior  promised  to  His  true 
followers.  '  I  go  to  prepare  a  place  for  you,' 
said  our  Lord.  Why  there  is  a  grand  sermon 
in  that  one  brief  sentence.  '  I  go,'  said  Christ. 
Where  did  He  go  ?  Why  did  He  go  ?  Why 
did  He  not  remain  forever  on  earth?  The 
answer  is,  that  He  might  send  the  Comforter. 
Then,  for  what  purpose  did  He  go  ?    To  pre- 


THE   MYSTERIOUS    VOICE.  57 

pare  mansions  for  all  true  believers.     What  a 
glorious  thought!     What   does  He   prepare? 
A  place.     Then  the  conclusion  is,  that  heaven 
is  a  tangible  localit}^     For  whom  is  He  pre- 
paring a  place?     'For  you.'     But  the  disci- 
ples stood  there  as  the  representatives  of  all 
true  believers  for  all  time.     So  I  should  have 
said,  had  I  been  in    that    preacher's    place 
to-day:    'Brethren,  Jesus  says   I  am  prepar- 
ing a  place  for  you.'     Then  I  would  go  on  to 
describe  this  blessed  place  from  intimations 
thrown  out  in  the  Bible  itself.     There  are  the 
shining    city,    the   jasper  walls,   the  golden 
streets,  the  crystal  river,  the  Trees  of  Life,  the 
Great  White  Throne,  and  the  mighty  multi- 
tude which  no  man  can  number.      With  these 
grand  and  sublime  thoughts  in   easy  reach, 
the  preacher  never  said  one  word  to  brighten 
our    hopes   and    strengthen    our    faith.     But 
instead  of  producing  such  an  effect,  he  threw 
us  into  a  state  of  stupid,  half-unconsciousness. 
What  a  failure  ! " 

Presently,  while  Ernest  was  musing  in  this 
loose,  random  way,  a  voice — a  "  still,  small 
voice,"  as  it  were,  seemed  to  come  out  of  the 
atmosphere,  and  ask:  "  Why  not  then ;p reach 
yourself?  "    It  was  the  fiery  finger  of  destiny 


58  DEEP   WATERS. 

flasliiug  before  him,  and  Ernest  was  startled. 
He  answered,  almost  sj)eaking  in  audible 
tones  :  "  Because  I  am  not  qualified.  I  liave 
no  call  to  such  work.  I  am  a  lawyer.  I  do 
not  know  how  to  preach." 

"But  you  have  just  preached  a  sermon," 
quickly  answered  the  voice.  "  I  only  thougM 
what  the  preacher  might  have  said,"  replied 
Ernest. 

"  Then  why  not  speak  your  thouglits  to  a 
congregation  ? "  asked  the  mysterious  voice. 

We  do  not  wish,  by  any  means,  to  make 
the  impression  that  this  was  an  actual  super- 
natural dialogue.  It  was  probably  subjective. 
We  use  the  word  "  probably,"  because  we 
have  no  right  to  affirm  that  God,  even  in  this 
age  of  skepticism,  never  addresses  men  in 
audible  tones  ;  or  what  amounts  to  the  same 
thing.  He,  no  doubt,  so  operates  upon  the 
human  conscience  as  to  make  subjective 
mental  processes  appear  objective.  At  any 
rate,  Ernest  was  a  little  startled  by  this  col- 
loquy, which  had  the  appearance  of  reality. 
He  was  so  absorbed  that  he  did  not  notice 
where  he  was.  He  was  slowly  walking  witli 
his  head  bowed  down,  and  ran  against  some 
one  soon  after  the  voice  appeared  to  utter  the 


THE   MYSTERIOUS   VOICE.  59 

last  words.  It  was  Mr.  Hillston,  at  whose 
house  Ernest  was  still  boarding.  The  collision 
occurred  at  the  gate.  Ernest  sprang  back, 
and  looked  in  surprise. 

"  0,  Mr.  Hillston,"  he  cried,  "  I  beg  your 
pardon,  sir.  I  was  not  looking  up.  I  was 
thinking,  yea,  almost  talking." 

''  And  to  whom  were  you  talking,  my  young 
friend  ?"  asked  the  old  gentleman. 

"  I  scarcely  know,  sir,  that  is,  I  can  hardly 
determine  whether  it  was  to  myself,  or  some 
invisible  being  in  the  air  ?" 

''  That  is  a  little  strange  ;  but  what  was  the 
subject  of  your  conversation?" 

'*  I  will  tell  you  how  it  was." 

Ernest  then  related  what  had  occurred. 
When  he  had  finished,  he  could  not  fail  to 
notice  the  serious  expression  of  Mr.  Hillston's 
face. 

'•What  do  you  think  about  it?"  asked 
Ernest. 

"Do  you  think  the  circumstance  needs  in- 
terpretation ?  "  asked  Mr.  Hillston.  "Do 
you  not  perceive  the  meaning  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know  that  it  has  any  particular 
meaning,"  answered  Ernest. 

"  My  boy,"  spoke  the  old  man  with   deep 


60  DEEP   WATERS. 

solemnity,  "  does  it  not  occur  to  you  that  it  is 
God's  call  to  the  ministry  ?  " 

"  No  sir,"  quickly  replied  Ernest.  "  Do  not 
tell  me  that.  I  cannot  believe  it.  I  will  not 
think  it  upon  such  evidence  ?" 

"  Yes,  you  will  think  it,  and  believe  it,  too. 
You  may  decline,  if  you  will ;  you  may  offer 
resistance,  but  that  voice  will  follow  you  up, 
and  haunt  you  like  a  ghost.  If  you  will  not 
go  into  the  work  willingly,  God  will  drive  you 
into  it,  as  he  did  Paul." 

"  What !  smite  me  with  blindness  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  say  that,"  answered  Mr.  Hillston 
slowly,  "but  He  will  so  shape  and  direct  cir- 
cumstances as  to  force  3'ou  to  do  His  bidding. 
You  may  flee  like  Jonah,  but  events,  possibly 
misfortunes,  will  be  the  '  great  fish '  to  swal- 
low you  up,  and  cast  you  out  where  you  will 
be  glad  to  cr}^  aloud  to  men  to  repent." 

"You  almost  frighten  me,"  exclaimed 
Ernest.  "  I  cannot  regard  what  I  have  told 
you  as  constituting  a  call  from  God  to  preach. 
I  am  not  superstitious.  I  do  not  believe  as 
you  do,  anyhow." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  my  boy  ?"  asked  the 
old  man,  looking  at  him  in  surprise. 

"  Do  you  not  remember  what  you  said  the 


THE   MYSTEEIOUS   VOICE.  61 

Other  day  about  election  and  free  agency.  I 
believe  in  free  agency.  I  do  not  think  that 
God  forces  nien  to  do  things.  But  you,"  con- 
tinued Ernest  with  a  laugh. ''  are  a  regular  old 
blue-stocking  Presbyterian." 

"  I  cannot  suffer  you,  my  young  friend,  to 
give  up  to  the  Presbyterians  exclusively  the 
most  precious  doctrines  of  the  Bible.  You 
are  very  much  mistaken  if  you  think  that 
Presbyterians  are  the  only  people  who  believe 
in  election  and  the  final  perseverance  of  the 
saints." 

"  Do  you  believe  that  other  horrid  doctrine 
of  Predestination  ?    No;  surely  not." 

"You  have  asked  me  a  direct  question," 
said  Mr.  Hillston,  and  have  presumed  to 
answer  for  me.  But  your  answer  is  incorrect : 
for  as  much  as  you  may  be  surprised,  I  tell 
you  that  I  do  believe  the  '  horrid  doctrine  '  of 
Predestination." 

"  Well,  I  am  surprised  to  hear  you  say  so. 
For  I  thought  that  even  Presbyterians  shrank 
from  averring  it  openly." 

"  You  may  be  surprised  now  ;  but  when  you 
investigate  more  closely,  you  may  be  a  Pre- 
destinarian  yourself,  if  you  will  lay  aside 
prejudice." 


62  DEEP   WATERS. 

'•  I  do  not  see  how  I  ever  can  be,  with  all 
deference  to  you,  sir ;  for  the  doctrine  is 
horrible  to  me." 

''  What  is  so  horrible,  my  boy  { "  asked  the 
old  man  kindly.  ''But  let  us  go  into  the 
house.  Now,"  continued  Mr.  Hillston,  as 
they  both  seated  themselves,  "  tell  me  what  is 
so  horrible  ?  " 

"Why,  that  God  should  condemn  men  to 
eternal  torment  even  before  they  are  born. 
What  can  be  more  cruel  and  unjust?  " 

"That  would  be  'horrible'  if  God  were 
blind,  as  men  are.  But  let  us  look  at  this 
'horrible  doctrine'  from  other  standpoints. 
You  probably  know  that  some  people,  in 
order  to  avoid  the  difficulties  of  Divine  sov- 
ereignty, strip  God  of  one  of  His  attributes  by 
saying  that  the  Lord  does  not  choose  to  fore- 
know human  destiny,  that  is,  individual 
destiny.  Now  if  that  were  true,  man  would 
be  a  perfect  free  moral  agent,  would  he  ?  " 

"Undoubtedly,  he  would,  sir." 

"  That  is  what  a  great  many  people  say," 
answered  Mr. , Hillston,  "in  the  very  face  of 
Scriptures  to  the  contrary.  But  never  mind  : 
for  the  present,  we  will  assume  that  God  does 
not  choose   to    exercise  His  foreknowledge. 


THE   MYSTEEIOUS   VOICE.  (53 

Well,  men  follow  tlie  bent  of  their  owns  wills, 
and  shape  their  own  destinies.  At  last  the 
world  comes  to  an  end.  God  opens  the  Books 
— that  is.  He  looks  back  over  the  past,  and 
discovers  what  men  have  done,  and  settles 
their  doom  according  to  their  deeds,  do  you 
think  that  would  be  right?  " 

"  0,  yes,"  said  Ernest, "  that  would  certainly 
be  just,  according  to  my  ideas." 

"Very  well.  In  looking  back,  the  mere 
knowledge  which  God  acquires  does  not  affect 
men's  conduct,  does  it  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  affect '  ?" 

"  I  mean  His  knowledge  would  not  change 
their  deeds,  one  way  or  the  other  ?  " 

"  No  :  of  course,  His  knowledge  would  have 
no  effect  upon  their  past  conduct." 

"  Then,  if  you  please,  tell  me  what  is  the 
difference  between  God's  looking  back  over 
the  past  and  looking  forward  over  the  future. 
How  would  His  knowledge  affect  human 
destinies  in  the  one  case  more  than  in  the 
other?" 

Ernest  thought  for  a  moment,  and  then  said  : 

"  Why,  there  is  this  difference  :  whatever 
God  foreknows  must  take  place." 


64  DEEP   WATERS. 

'' Undoubtedly,"  said  Mr.  Hillston,  ''but 
does  God's  after-knowledge  affect  the  conduct 
of  men?" 

"No,  sir." 

"  Then  how  does  God's  foreknowledge  differ 
from  his  after-knowledge — that  is  the  ques- 
tion.    Is  there  any  difference  ?" 

"Just  at  this  moment,"  replied  Ernest  in 
some  confusion,  "  I  am  not  jDrepared  to  say  ; 
but  it  does  seem  to  me  unjust  in  God  to  sen- 
tence men  to  torment  before  they  are  born." 

"  But  if  the  condemnation  is  for  the  same 
.sins,  why  not  condemn  before  they  are  born 
as  well  as  after  ?" 

"  You  have  taken  a  turn  that  I  was  not 
expecting,"  answered  Ernest.  "I  confess  I 
had  never  thought  of  it  in  that  way." 

'^  No,  and  that  is  Avhat  is  the  matter  with 
the  most  of  those  who  023pose  the  doctrine  of 
predestination.  They  ev^n  deny  fore-knowl- 
edge to  God,  not  pausing  to  reflect  that  mere 
knowledge  has  no  effect  upon  the  destinies  of 
men.  They  represent  God  as  in  the  attitude 
of  a  human  judge.  But  we  must  never  forget 
that  His  ways  are  not  as  our  ways,  and  His 
thoughts,  not  as  our  thoughts.  Predestina- 
tion  is   a   m3'sterioLis  doctrine,  and  there   is 


THE   MYSTEEIOUS    VOICE.  65 

something  about  it  which  no  man  can  under- 
stand. And  yet,  when  we  investigate  it  in 
the  light  of  the  Holy  Scriptures,  and  study 
the  examples  illustrating  it,  there  is  not  as 
much  difficulty  as  some  people  imagine.  I 
do  not  think  you  have  investigated  in  this 
way." 

"  No,  sir;  but  I  intend  to  do  so." 

"That  is  right.  Study  your  Bible  closely ; 
honestly  mark  all  the  passages  that  teach  this 
'horrid  doctrine,'  and  let  us  talk  about  it 
again.  I  have  no  doubt  that  you  will  study 
the  Bible  more  closely  than  you  have  ever 
done,  since  you  are  going  to  be  a  minister  of 
the  gospel." 

"^' There,  you  are  reckoning  without  your 
host,"  said  Ernest.  "  I  have  no  idea  of  ever 
being  a  preacher.  I  am  not  qualified.  Why, 
it  would  be  presumjDtion  in  me  to  think 
about  it." 

"  Mark  my  words,  Ernest,"  said  Mr.  Hill- 
ston  solemnly,  "you  will  be  a  preacher  or  a 
ruined  man.  The  Holy  Spirit,  if  I  am  not 
very  greatly  mistaken,  is  opening  the  way, 
and  showing  you  the  j)ath.  I  beg  you,  do 
not  neglect  and  disregard  plain  indications. 
I  cannot  help  thinking  that  you  are  a  chosen 


66  DEEP   WATERS. 

vessel  for  some  great  purpose,  and  if  so,  you 
will  see  no  peace  till  you  obey  the  voice  of 
God.  If  you  are  in  doubt,  pray  to  the 
Lord  for  light,  and  it  will  be  given.  The 
Master  will  certainly  make  clear  the  path  of 
duty." 

Ernest  was  silent,  and  Mr.  Hillston  con- 
cluded it  would  be  prudent  to  say  nothing 
more  at  that  time.  The  young  man  went  to 
his  office  soon  after,  and  fell  into  deep 
thought.  Was  it  possible,  he  asked  himself, 
that  he  was  destined  to  become  a  j)reacher  ? 
The  thought  became  more  intolerable  as  he 
reflected  upon  it.  He  wished  that  he  had  not 
tried  his  power  of  sermonizing,  for  it  was  this 
that  had  given  origin  to  what  Mr.  Hillston  had 
the  boldness  to  pronounce  a  call  to  the  minis- 
try. Was  it  in  this  way  that  God  chose  his 
ministers  ?  But  suppose  this  was  a  divine 
call,  how  could  he  refuse  to  obey  ?  Would  he 
rebel  against  God's  expressed  will?  But 
surely  this  was  no  call,  at  least  it  was  not 
sufficient.  There  certainly  was  no  voice.  He 
would  wait,  and  pray  for  more  light.  Would 
he  not  lose  Clara  Yanclure  ?  Would  she  ever 
consent  to  be  a  preacher's  wife  ? 


THE   MYSTERIOUS   VOICE.  67 

This  latter  question,  propounded  to  himself, 
had  some  influence,  probably  in  causing  him 
to  come  to  the  conclusion  not  to  rush  hastily 
into  the  ministry  u2")on  an  invitation  which 
existed,  he  thought,  only  in  his  imagination. 
^Accordingly,  he  endeavored  to  dismiss  the 
perplexing  subject  from  his  mind.  To  his 
great  relief,  he  found  no  difficulty  in  losing 
himself  in  the  pages  of  a  volume  which  he 
took  from  one  of  the  shelves  of  his  library.  It 
was  Dr.  Dick's  "Philosophy  of  a  Future 
State."  For  pleasant  and  profitable  Sunday 
reading,  no  better  books  can  be  found  than 
Dick's  several  volumes  on  moral  and  religious 
subjects.  Ernest  was  so  absorbed  in  his 
book  that  he  thought  no  more  about  the 
"call  to  preach"  for  the  remainder  of  the 
Sabbath  evening. 

The  next  morning  when  he  returned  to  his 
office  as  usual  and  began  reading  Blacks  tone, 
the  words  of  the  preacher's  text  on  the  pre- 
vious day  suddenly  flashed  into  his  mind. 
He  quickly  dropped  his  book  and  began 
thinking.  Presently  he  almost  sprang  from 
his  seat,  for  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  table, 
on  which  his  head  had  been  resting,  there  sat 
a  visitor,  who  was  curiously  gazing  at  him. 


68  DEEP   WATERS. 

"Ah!  been  asleep,  have  you?"  said  Mr. 
Van  dure,  for  it  was  he. 

"!N'o,  sir,"  said  Ernest  confusedly,  *'Iwas 
in  a  sort  of  reverie." 

"  Things  of  that  sort  don't  pay  much — no, 
sir,  don't  pay  much:  I  have  been  too  busy 
all  my  life  for  anything  of  that  kind.  People 
must  keep  wide  awake  in  tiiis  world  to  suc- 
ceed— yes,  sir,  to  succeed." 

"  My  vocation  is  diiferent  from  yours,  Mr. 
Vanclure,  you  know.  When  we  lawyers 
meet  with  a  knotty  problem  sometimes,  we 
stop  to  think,  and  occasionally  we  get  to 
dreaming  :  it  is  not  unnatural." 

"  Well,"  said  the  old  merchant  abruptly, 
"I  have  come  to  say  something  about  a  deli- 
cate matter — a  delicate  matter.  If  it  was 
ordinary  business,  I'd  know  how  to  begin- 
how  to  begin.     But  it's  another  sort  of  affair." 

"  Just  suppose  it  to  be  business  of  an 
ordinary  character,  Mr.  Vanclure,  and  begin 
at  once,"  said  Ernest  with  a  feeling  of  dread. 

'•Well,"  said  the^tnerchant  in  a  fidgety 
manner,  "  I  thought  you  and  Clara  were 
engaged  to  be  married— engaged  to  be  mar- 
ried pretty  soon,  and  things  were  floating 
along  smoothly,  you  know.     Yes,  sir,  and  I 


THE   MYSTERIOUS    VOICE.  69 

liad  given  my  consent,  yon  remember,  at  your 
solicitation,  and  I  was  making  my  arrange- 
ments accordingly,  for  you  see  I  had  confi- 
dence in  you,  Ernest,  since  I  have  known  you 
from  a  child — yes  from  a  child.  I  told  you, 
don't  you  remember,  that  I  had  some  business 
affairs  which  I  could  not  manage — could  not 
manage,  because  I'm  no  lawyer." 

"  Well,"  interrupted  Ernest,  "  you  can  tell 
me  what  the  business  is,  and  I  will  do  the 
best  I  can  with  it." 

''  But  3^ou  don't  understand,  Ernest — you 
don't  understand.  It  wouldn't  be  proper  just 
yet  to  tell  you.  I  said  it  was  a  delicate  mat- 
ter— a  delicate  matter,  just  as  things  now  are. 
You  see  I  thought  everything  was  working 
well.  I  thought  this  contract  between  you 
and  Clara  would  soon  be  executed — would 
soon  be  executed,  and  tlien  I  could  with  pro- 
priety put  this  business  in  your  liands — in 
your  hands,  Ernest,  because  you  would,  you 
would  sustain  a  closer  relation  to  me  than  you 
do  now,  and  then  I  could  let  joii  know  all  my 
plans — know  all  my  plans,  which  wouldn't  be 
proper  just  yet — just  yet,  you  know.  You 
understand  how  I  am  situated." 

"I  cannot  say  that  I  do,"   replied  Ernest 


70  DEEP    WATERS. 

witli  a  smile,  "  for  you  have  told  me  nothing 
in  regard  to  your  situation." 

''I  have  told  you  all  I  can,  Ernest — all  I 
can  till  that  aftair  comes  off — comes  off." 

"  What  affair,  Mr.  Yanclure  ?" 

"  The  engagement  between  you  and  Clara, 
of  course,  of  course.  I  thought  all  would  be 
over  in  a  few  weeks — yes,  in  a  few  weeks. 
But  I  fear  there  is  a  misunderstanding  some- 
where, and  I  thought  there'd  be  no  harm  in 
finding  out — in  finding  out,  you  see." 

"  What  is  it  you  wish  to  find  out,  Mr. 
Yanclure  ?" 

''  Well,  you  see,  I  got  a  hint  from  Clara,  a 
hint  from  Clara,  and  I  thought  I'd  better  find 
out, — better  find  out." 

"  I  am  perfectly  willing  to  give  you  any  in- 
formation in  my  possesion,"  said  Ernest. 

"  I  thought  so,  I  thought  so,  and  I'll  come 
to  the  point  at  once.  You  see  it  was  a 
lawyer  I  wanted.  A  preacher  and  a  lawyer 
are  very  different  people.  I  could  make  no 
use  of  a  preacher — no,  sir,  no  use  of  a 
preacher,  you  understand?" 

"I  do  not  understand,  Mr.  Yanclure." 

"I  got  a  hint  from  Clara — a  hint  from  Clara, 
and  I  thought  I'd  better  come,  and  find  out 
about  it,  before  it's  too  late." 


THE   MYSTEEIOUS    VOICE.  71 

"What  is  it  you  wish  to  find  out,  Mr.  Yan- 
clure  ?"  interrupted  Ernest. 

"  Why,  I  thought  you'd  see  at  once — yes,  at 
once,  after  my  explanation." 

Ernest  smiled  internally. 

"I  confess,  Mr.  Yanclure,  that  I  am  so  obtuse 
mentally,  that  I  have  failed  to  understand 
your  explanation." 

"  What?  can't  you  see — can't  you  see  that  a 
lawyer  and  a  preacher  are  two  different  people 
— two  different  people  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  I  see  that  clearly." 

"  Well,  I  gave  you  to  understand  that  a 
lawyer  would  suit  me — would  suit  me,  and  I 
thought  you  were  a  lawyer." 

"  So  I  am." 

"But  are  you  going  to  give  up  law,  and  be 
a  preacher — be  a  preacher  ?" 

"  Who  said  I  was,  Mr.  Yanclure  ?" 

"  I  told  you  I  got  a  hint  from  Clara — a  hint 
from  Clara,  you  understand  ?" 

"I  believe  I  do,"  said  Ernest  thoughtfully. 
It  seems  that  Miss  Clara  has  thrown  out  a 
hint  that  I  would  be  a  preacher  ?" 

"  Precisely,  precisely." 

"  And  suppose  1  should  be,  Mr.  Yanclure, 
how  could  it  affect  present  relations  ?" 


72  DEEP   WATERS. 

"  Why,  you  see,  a  preacher  is  not  the  sort 
of  man,  the  sort  of  man,  that  would  suit  my 
purj)oses.  A  preacher  is  no  business  man, 
Ernest — no  business  man.  This  thing-  of  g'oing 
over  the  country,  with  your  ward-robe  in  a 
pair  of  saddle-bags — yes,  in  a  pair  of  saddle- 
bags, and  living  from  hand  to  mouth — well,  I 
can't  see  the  necessity  of  it  in  this  case,  in 
this  case.  Although  Clara  gave  me  a  hint,  I 
didn't  much  belie v^e  it — I  didn't  much  believe 
it — because,  Ernest,  there  is  no  necessity  for 
it,  no  earthly  necessity  for  it.  You  will  not 
be  forced  to  go  into  that  poor  business — that 
poor  business  ;  but  don't  misunderstand;  I'm 
not  opposed  to  the  Church — its  a  very  good 
thing  in  its  place — a  very  good  thing,  and  I 
pa}^  my  part  to  keep  it  going.  But,  as  I  said, 
a  preacher  is  not  the  sort  of  man  I  bargained 
for — it  was  a  lawyer  I  wanted,  and  I  had  my 
heart  set  on  this  matter,  and  I  expected  to  put 
the  business  in  your  hands — in  your  hands." 

"  "Why  are  you  opposed  to  preachers,  Mr. 
Yanclure  ?" 

"You  misunderstand,  Ernest,  you  mis- 
understand. I  haven't  said  I  was  opposed  to 
them.  I  have  nothing  against  them,  nothing 
against  them.     They  are  useful  men,  in  some 


THH   MYSTERIOUS   VOICE.  73 

respects,  in  some  respects ;  but  tliey  are  not 
business  men,  not  business  men.  How  could 
a  preacher  attend  to  my  business  ?  I  don't 
see  why  you  should  want  to  quit  your  profes- 
sion, quit  3'our  profession,  and  be  a  preacher  ; 
you  understand,  don't  you  ?" 

"  I  gather  from  your  remarks,  Mr.  Vanclure, 
that  if  it  is  my  intention  to  be  a  preacher,  you 
would  opi30se  the  marriage  of  Miss  Clara  and 
myself — is  that  your  meaning  ?" 

'^Well,  I  didn't  say  that  I'd  oppose  it:  I 
only  said  that  a  preacher  wouldn't  suit  me; 
no,  wouldn't  suit  me.  A  preacher  wouldn't 
have  time  to  attend  to  business,  even  if  he 
were  a  business  man,  and  I  never  saw  one  that 
was — one  that  was." 

''I  have  no  idea  of  ever  being  a  preacher, 
Mr.  Yanclure,  and  I  cannot  imagine  why  Miss 
Clara  should  have  drawn  such  an  inference 
from  anything  I  said." 

"I  told  Clara  that  she  must  be  mistaken, 

must  be  mistaken.     Then  I  understand  that 

you  never  will  be  a  preacher  ?" 

"I  have  no  such  intention,  sir." 

"  Well,  that's  enough  said  :  I'll  go  now,  and 

I'd  advise  tou  to  see  Clara  about  this  affair. 


74 


DEEP   WATERS. 


and  give   her  the  assurance  you  have  given 
me."    Mr.  Vanclure  left  hurriedly. 

Ernest  liad  an  interview  vrith  Clara  that 
evening,  which  terminated  in  the  assurance, 
on  her  part,  that  if  he  ever  became  a  preacher, 
she  would  at  once  file  an  application  for  a 
divorce. 


*'f 


CHAPTER  ly. 


A  RIVAL. 


An  event  soon  occurred  in  the  town  wliicli 
aroused  feelings  and  emotions  in  the  breast 
of  Ernest,  the  statical  condition  of  which 
had  never  before  been  disturbed.  A  family 
moved  into  the  town,  among  whose  mem- 
bers was  a  young  man  about  the  age  of 
Ernest.  A  few  days  after  their  arrival,  a  sign 
was  seen  over  a  store-door  in  large  black  let- 
ters—A. J.  Comston  &  Son.  The  "son"  be- 
longing to  this  firm  is  the  only  one  of  the 
family  whose  life  projects  into  the  present 
history.  Xerxes  Comston  was  the  equal  of 
Ernest  in  physical  attractions,  and  his  supe- 
rior in  almost  everything  pertaining  to  the 
eleorant'  frivolities  and  conventional  refine- 
ments  of  fashionable  society.  He  was  emphat- 
ically a  man  of  the  world — a  disciple  of 
Chesterfield,  who  had  made  social  etiquette  a 
special  study.  He  had  no  depth  of  intellect 
and  no  solid  education,  but  was  master  of 
that  small  talk,  silvery  nonsense,   so  delight- 

75 


76  DEEP    VVATEKS. 

ful  to  vacuous  minds.  It  is  a  well-known 
fact  that  truly  educated  men,  who  have  ''drunk 
deep  of  the  Pierian  spring,"  rarely  ever  shine 
in  promiscuous  societ^^  They  appear  timid 
and  destitute  of  ideas,  while  men  who  have 
collected  only  the  scum  of  ephemeral  litera- 
ture, and  studied  terpsichorean  gymnastics, 
and  committed  to  memory  a  stock  of  witti- 
cisms pleasing  to  light-headed  women,  pass 
in  society  at  a  value  far  more  than  their  real 
worth.  Xerxes  was  a  man  of  this  description. 
He  had  studied  dinner-table  etiquette  and 
ball-room  dynamics  more  than  any  other 
branch  of  human  literature.  The  comparison 
between  Ernest  and  Xerxes  in  regard  to  moral 
excellences  would  be  like  that  of  Brobding- 
nag  and  Liliputian.  Yet  in  fashionable 
assemblies,  where  Ernest  would  sit  in 
embarrassed  silence,  Xerxes  Avould  rattle 
away  with*  astonishing  and  entertaining 
volubility — a  volubility  without  ideas,  but 
still,  necessary  to  preserve  the  regular  How 
of  the  stream  of  conversation.  Men  like 
Ernest  are  frequently  voted  "stupid"  by  the 
gilded  butterflies  of  society,  when  the  truth 
is,  they  can  scarcely  ever  find  a  "  pleasure- 
party"  that  can  appreciate  the  subjects  with 


A    EIVAL.  77 

whicli  they  are  familiar.  They  are  not  iiii 
social,  as  is  generally  supposed,  but  they 
dwell  in  a  world  of  thought,  a  world  which  is 
so  sparsely  settled  that  they  necessarily 
spend  much  or  most  of  their  time  in  solitude. 
This  class  is  quite  small.  Hence,  speaking 
metaphorically,  they  live  in  a  wilderness  in 
which  there  is  here  and  there  a  house  in- 
habited by  a  literary  recluse. 

Ernest  and  Xerxes  were,  as  to  moral 
character,  like  Zenith  and  Nadir. 

Not  many  days  elapsed  before  Xerxes 
sought  and  formed  the  acquaiutance  of  Clara 
Vanclure.  Her  prospective  fortune  made  a 
deep  impression  upon  his  heart.  He  had  heard 
of  the  relation  between  Ernest  and  the  young 
lady,  but  he  acted  toward  her  as  though  he 
were  perfectly  ignorant  of  the  ties  which 
bound  her  to  another.  The  civil  law  had 
given  no  validity  to  this  gossamer  tenure, 
and  till  that  should  be  done,  the  conscience  of 
Xerxes  stood  not  in  the  way  of  his  endeavor- 
ing to  produce  an  alienation  between  the  en- 
gaged lovers.  However,  he  never  intimated 
to  any  one  that  he  entertained  such  a 
purpose. 

At  length  there  was  to  be  a  grand  ball  in  the 


78  DEEP    WATERS. 

town,  and  the  young  people  generally  were 
filled  with  delightful  expectations.  A  few 
days  before  it  occurred,  Ernest  called  upon 
his  intended.  He  had  visited  her  regularly 
three  or  four  times  a  week  since  his  profes- 
sion of  religion,  and  had  not  once  alluded  to 
the  subject  which  was  so  repulsive  to  her. 
When  there  was  a  pause  in  the  conversation 
on*  the  evening  just  referred  to,  she  suddenly 
said: 

"Are  you  going  to  the  ball,  next  Tuesday 
evening  ? " 

He  looked  earnestly  at  her,  while  a  shade 
of  sorrow  and  disappointment  passed  over  his 
face. 

"  My  dear  Clara,"  he  said  in  a  subdued  tone, 
"how  can  you  ask  me  such  a  question,  after  the 
conversation  we  once  had  on  this  subject  ^" 

"  I  didn't  know  but  that  you  might  have 
changed  your  notion,"  she  replied. 

"I  thought  you  would  give  me  credit  for 
more  stability  of  purpose  than  that." 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  I  can  see  no  harm  in  going 
to  a  ball,"  was  her  rejoinder. 

"  That  means  you  are  going,  does  it  ?  "  ask- 
ed Ernest. 

"I  rather  think  I  shall,"  she  replied  with  an 


A   EIVAL.  79 

air  of  firmness,  indicating  expectancy  of 
opposition. 

"Well,  do  as  you  please,"  he  said. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  cannot  go,"  she  remarked, 
after  a  brief  i^ause,  "  because  I  shall  be  forced 
to  accept  another  escort." 

"  Who  ? "  asked  Ernest  with  an  air  of  in- 
difference that  nettled  Clara's  feelings. 

"  Mr.  Comston." 

Ernest  made  a  sudden  movement  which  she 
noticed  with  pleasure.  The  first  pang  of 
jealousy  had  shot  through  his  heart,  stinging, 
tearing,  sickening,  shocking  like  a  barbed 
arrow.  It  had  not  seriously  occurred  to  him 
before,  that  there  might  be  a  rupture  of  the 
engagement  into  which  she  had  so  solemnly 
entered.  He  had  regarded  her  as  his  wife,  or 
at  least,  so  near  to  that  relation  that  the  possi- 
bility of  losing  her,  had  not  disturbed  his 
thoughts.  Suddenly  this  peril  flashed  into  his 
mind,  accompanied  by  a  feeling  of  strong 
dislike  toward  the  young  man,  whose  name 
she  had  just  pronounced  with  alarming  ten- 
derness. He  tried  to  re-assure  himself.  Why 
should  he  for  a  moment  doubt  her  constancy  ? 
How  could  she  possibly  prefer  this  dude  to 
himself  ?    No,  no  ;  how  could  she  ?    And  yet — . 


80  DEEP   WATERS. 

He  dreaded  to  give  definite  shape  to  the  vague 
thought  confusedly  working  to  the  surface. 
Clara  perceived  her  advantage. 

"You  would  not  go,"  she  said,  "what 
then,  was  I  to  do  ?  I'm  bound  to  have  an 
escort." 

"I  have  offered  no  objection,"  Ernest  replied 
in  a  sorrowful  tone,  "  and  yet,"  he  continued 
timidly,  "might  you  not  have  accepted  an 
escort  with  more  congeniality  than  exists 
between  you  and  that  one  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  the  necessity  of  so  much  con- 
geniality in  a  dancing  companion,"  she  an- 
swered. "  Besides,  Mr.  Comston  is  a  nice, 
elegant  gentleman,  and  is,  by  no  means, 
dull." 

The  last  remark  was  like  gall  to  Ernest,  and 
he  felt  strongly  tempted  to  express  his  opinion 
about  the  moral  character  of  his  rival :  but  on 
second  thought,  lie  concluded  that  silence  on 
that  head  would  be  prudent.  He  at  once 
changed  the  subject  of  conversation,  and 
nothing  more  was  said  about  the  dance. 

At  the  time  appointed,  Xerxes  called  to 
escort  Clara  to  the  ball.  That  evening  he 
paid  her  very  marked  attention,  and  en- 
deavored in  every  possible  way,  except   the 


A   EIVAL.  81 

agency  of  the  tongue,  to  convey  to  lier  the 
knowledge  that  she  occupied  a  conspicuous 
place  in  his  affections.  Clara  was  at  no  loss 
to  interpret  his  look  and  manners.  She 
understood  that  earnest,  inquiring  gaze  which 
seemed  to  be  searching  into  the  depths  of  her 
soul.  It  was  not  the  bold,  impudent  stare  of 
the  accomplished  libertine,  but  the  skillful 
maneuvering  of  a  man  w^ho  knew  how  to 
express  tender  feelings  silently,  whether 
they  had  real  existence  or  not.  He  gazed,  it 
is  true,  but  in  such  a  Way  as  to  make  the  im- 
pression upon  the  young  lady  that  it  was  the 
timid,  stealthy  act  of  a  despairing  lover. 
He  acted  as  though  he  had  unintentionally 
betrayed  the  state  of  his  affections,  and  yet 
he  was  well  aware  that  this  betrayal  had  not 
escaped  the  observation  of  the  young  lady ; 
for  we  sometimes  seem  to  know  that  certain 
persons  are  looking  at  us,  when  we  do  not  see 
them.  If  Xerxes  had  gazed  boldly  at  Clara, 
she  would  have  taken  offence  ;  but  his  ap- 
peared to  be  stolen  glances,  and  she  felt 
flattered. 

As  they  returned  late  from  the  ball-room, 
he  said  to  her  as  soon  as  they  were  in  the 
open  air ; 


82  DEEP   WATERS. 

"Well,  liow  have  you  enjoyed  the  even- 
ing?" 

"Very  much,  indeed,"  she  said,  "how  has 
it  been  with  yourself?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  why  it  was,"  he  answered, 
"but  I  never  enjoyed  an  evening  so  much  in 
my  life.  I  wish  we  could  have  a  dance  every 
week,  or  even  oftener." 

"  I  say  '  Amen '  to  that,"  exclaimed  Clara, 
"  for  this  is  an  awful  dull  town." 

"I  find  it  so  myself,"  replied  Xerxes. 
"  There  are  so  few  young  ladies  here." 

"  So  few?  "  answered  Clara  in  surprise.  "  I 
thought  there  were  a  great  many." 

''  Yes,  but  I  mean  congenial  spirits.  They 
make  no  impression  upon  me.  The  fault, 
however,  may  be  mine.  I  may  not  know  how 
to  entertain  them.  I  have  not  been  accustomed 
to  a  great  deal  of  female  society." 

"You  dance  beautifully,  which  made  me 
conclude  that  you  were  a  great  lady's  man." 

"I  am  at  a  loss  to  imagine  upon  what  you 
could  base  such  a  conclusion." 

"  Is  not  dancing  associated  with  ladies  ? 
You  said  you  had  enjoyed  the  evening.  I  was 
simple  enough  to  think  that  it  was  the  pres- 
ence of  ladies  that  caused  the  time  to  pass  off 
so  agreeably." 


A   EIVAL.  83 

'•  I  am  indebted  to  you  for  that,"  lie  an- 
swered quickly.  "  If  3^011  will  allow  me  to  say 
it,  you  are  so  different  from  the  rest." 

"  If  you  really  believe  that,  I  must  thank 
you  for  the  compliment  you  intend." 

Thus  they  chatted  till  they  reached  Clara's 
home.  As  he  was  taking  his  leave,  Xerxes 
said  in  an  earnest,  appealing  tone : 

"  If  you  will  allow  me  to  call  occasionally,  it 
would  be  a  great  favor,  and  enable  me  to  kill 
at  least  some  of  the  time  that  hangs  so  heavily 
upon  my  hands?" 

"  Certainly  :  I  would  be  pleased  to  have  you 
call,  for  I'm  frequently  afflicted  with  dreadful 
ennui  myself,"  was  the  imprudent  permission 
of  this  betrothed  young  lady.  When  they 
separated,  Clara  said  to  herself : 

"  What  a  pleasant  man  he  is.  I  do  believe 
he  is  more  entertaining  than  Ernest,  who,  with 
his  religion  and  his  great  education,  is  so 
solenm.  He  doesn't  act  like  a  young  man 
at  all.  But  he  is  so  smart,  and  I  can  always 
be  proud  of  him.  Besides,  papa  has  so  much 
confidence  in  him.  But  I  do  wish  he  were  just 
a  little  more  like  Mr.  Comston." 

And  Xerxes  thought  as  he  went  away  : 

'•  She  is  very  beautiful.      This,    with  her 


84  DEEP    WATERS. 

thousands,  makes  her  a  prize  worth  winning. 
She  has  not  yet  mentioned  the  name  of  that 
religious  lawyer.  Look  sliarp,  my  zealous 
friend  !  if  you  don't  mind,  I'll  play  you  a  trick 
yet.  You  may  be  engaged  to  her,  but 
'  there's  many  a  slip  betwixt  the  cup  and  the 
lip.' " 

And  here  we  leave  them  in  darkness. 

The  next  evening  Ernest  called  again,  and 
found  Clara  in  the  parlor.  She  had  slept  till 
noon. 

"I  hope  you  are  feeling  well  after  your  last 
evening's  dissipation,"  he  said  pleasantly,  as 
he  seated  himself. 

''I  never  felt  better,"  she  answered.  "I 
believe  the  exercise  was  an  advantage  to 
me.  I  don't  see  why  you  should  call  it  dissi- 
pation." 

"  Dissipation  it  is  when  compared  with  some 
other  things,  especially  those  more  solid  x>ur- 
suits  which  improve  the  mind." 

''Do  you  think  of  nothing  but  improving 
the  mind  ?  "  asked  Clara.  "  Don't  you  believe 
in  any  recreation  at  all  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  but  different  people  have  differ- 
ent kinds  of  recreation." 

"What  is  your  kind?  I  should  like  to 
know." 


A   KIVAL.  85 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  answered  Ernest.  "  I  take 
a  walk  or  ride  every  day  for  tlie  benefit  of  my 
physical  organization.  To  rest  my  mind  I 
read  light  literature." 

''  And  is  that  the  way  you  propose  to  spend 
your  life  ? "  inquired  Clara  looking  at  him 
anxiously. 

''Why  should  I  not?" 

"  Of  course,  you  can  do  as  you  please," 
said  Clara,  showing  some  signs  of  vexation. 
"  But  isn't  it  rather  selfish  ?  " 

"  It  may  aj)pear  so  at  present,  because  I 
am  alone  a  great  deal.  But  ere  long  I  shall 
have  a  lovable  companion  who  can  share  these 
pleasures  with  me." 

Clara  could  not  fail  to  understand  his  mean- 
ing, and  now,  for  the  first  time,  it  occurred  to 
her  what  a  gloomy  life  she  must  lead  with 
this  solemn  man  of  books.  She  had  no  great 
taste  for  literature  :  Ernest,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  a  thorough  bibliophilist.  He  would,  no 
doubt,  want  her  to  read  to  him  what  he  called 
light  literature,  which  would  prove  rather 
heavy  to  her  ;  and  he  would  expect  her  to  be 
deeply  interested  in  it.  Xerxes,  on  the  con- 
trary, would  be  a  gay  companion,  and  would 
take  her  to  balls,  theaters,  and  other  places 


86  DEEP   WATERS. 

of  aimisement.  This  comparison  passed  rap- 
idly through  her  mind. 

"  Do  you  not  think  that  will  be  a  pleasant 
way  to  spend  life  ? "  asked  Ernest,  after  the 
pause  that  followed  his  last  remark. 

"  It  may  be  for  those  who  like  it,"  she 
answered  very  dryly. 

"Don't  you  think,"  asked  Ernest,  "that 
intellectual  pleasures  are  the  most  solid  and 
substantial  of  all  ?  I  take  the  view  that  we 
are  put  here  to  cultivate  our  minds  and  hearts, 
and  not  to  be  creatures  of  mere  sensuality. 
How  much  better  are  we  than  the  brutes,  if 
our  whole  aim  is  only  to  '  eat,  drink,  and  be 
merry.'  That  is  the  way  they  spend  the 
golden  hours  of  life." 

"I  suppose  you  mean,  then,  to  call  me  a 
brute,"  said  Clara,  inclined  to  pout. 

"  No,  no,"  cried  Ernest  quickly,  "  I  had  no 
such  meaning." 

"But  I  cannot  enjoy  books  like  you.  You 
know  that,"  she  said  peevishly. 

"  You  will  learn,  though,  I  trust." 

"  I  don't  think  I  ever  will,"  she  replied. 

"What  do  you  like,  then?"  inquired 
Ernest,  trying  to  smile. 


A   EIVAL.  87 

"  Things  that  you  don't,  it  seems.  I  like 
theaters  and  dances." 

"But  in  the  course  of  time  you  will  desire 
pleasures  more  substantial  than  these." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  will." 

Clara  seemed  to  be  out  of  humor  all  that 
evening,  and  when  Ernest  left  his  heart  was 
filled  with  misgivings.  He  thought  and  feared 
that  he  had  discovered  a  change  in  her  man- 
ner toward  him.  She  was  evidently  more 
distant  than  she  had  been  since  their  engage- 
ment. He  was  melancholy.  But  what  could 
he  do  to  put  an  end  to  this  dreadful  suspense  ? 
He  determined  that  he  would  persuade  Clara 
to  appoint  an  earlier  day  for  their  marriage. 

Availing  himself  of  the  privilege  allowed 
him,  Xerxes  called  the  next  evening.  This 
young  man  had  traveled  considerably,  and 
had  lived  in  the  city  of  ISTew  York  for  several 
years.  He  had  not  been  seated  long  before 
he  gave  Clara  an  animated  description  of  the 
theaters  of  Paris.  She  listened  like  one  en- 
tranced. Perceiving  her  profound  interest, 
he  soon  discovered  how  to  entertain  her. 

"  How  I  should  like  to  travel,"  said  Clara, 
with  a  deep-drawn  sigh. 


88  DEEP   WATERS. 

"  Yes,  it  is  very  pleasant  to  make  the  tour 
of  the  workl  with  a  congenial  companion." 

"I  should  think  so,"  she  said.  "Which 
city  do  you  like  best  ?  " 

"  Paris,  undoubtedl3^  You  can  spend  a 
life  there,  looking  at  the  curiosities.  There 
is  the  Louvre,  the  Tuilleries,  the  bridges,  the 
arcs  and  a  thousand  other  things  that  I  can- 
not think  of  now.  I  read  Victor  Hugo's  Les 
Miserables  while  I  was  there,  and  went  to  the 
streets  and  other  places  he  mentions.  It  made 
the  stor}^  much  more  interesting.  Did  yoii 
ever  read  that  work  ?  " 

"  No.  sir,  I  never  did." 

"I  have  a  copy,  and  will  bring  it  to  you  if 
you  would  like  to  read  it." 

"Indeed,  I  should  like  to  do  so.  We  can 
get  no  books  m  this  dull  town." 

'•  Well  may  you  call  it  dull,  "  said  Xerxes. 
"  I  told  my  father  the  other  day  that  I  felt  that 
I  would  have  to  dissolve  our  partnership.  I 
don't  believe  I  can  stand  the  country  much 
longer.  Father  came  here  to  have  a  quiet 
time,  but  it  is  almost  too  quiet  for  me." 

These  two  talked  about  nothing  but  parties, 
dances,  shows  and  the  like  the  remainder  of 
the  evening,  and  the  young  lady  thought  she 
had  been   highly   entertained.      Xerxes   had 


A  EIVAL.  89 

touched  responsive  chords  in  her  nature  whose 
very  existence  Ernest  had  ignored.  After  his 
departure,  she,  at  first  timidly  asked  herself 
the  question  if  she  really  had  any  true  affec- 
tion for  Ernest.  Was  he  a  suitable  com23anion 
for  her  ?  After  their  marriage,  was  it  not  evi- 
dent that  lie  would  expect  her  to  take  a  deep 
interest  in  the  stupid  books  to  which  he  was 
devoted.  Xerxes  was  like  herself  and  she 
thought  how  happy  she  could  be  with  an 
elegant  gentleman  who  would  take  delight  in 
the  things  of  which  she  was  so  fond. 

With  such  communings  as  these  she  fell 
asleep.  She  dreamed  that  she  was  wandering 
in  a  wide  plain,  and  that  she  was  weary  and 
sad  on  account  of  a  great  sorrow  which  had 
come  over  her,  which  was  the  loss  of  her 
parents.  She  sat  down  on  a  stone,  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands,  and  wept.  Hearing  a 
deep-drawn  sigh  at  her  side,  she  looked 
around,  and  beheld  Ernest.  He  mingled  his 
tears  with  hers,  and  pointed  upward.  Sud- 
denly he  disappeared.  Again  she  bowed  her 
head,  and  wept  afresh.  Then  she  heard  a 
joyous  laugh,  and  rising  up,  she  saw  Xerxes 
standing  before  her.  "  Why  weep  ? "  he  said. 
"  Enjoy  life.      Come  with  me  to  yon  throng  of 


90  DEEP   WATERS. 

dancers,  and  drown  your  sorrow."  Slie  cast 
her  eyes  in  the  direction  in  which  he  was 
pointing,  and  beheld  a  company  gayly  dress- 
ed, whirling  amid  gorgeous  flowers  under 
gigantic  oaks.  She  gave  her  hand  to  the 
smiling  Xerxes,  and  they  were  soon  mingling 
with  the  giddy  pleasure-seekers. 

When  Clara  awoke,  the  superstition  of  her 
nature,  more  or  less  of  which  all  of  us  have, 
inclined  her  to  put  an  interpretation  upon  her 
dream  which  was  decidedly  unfavorable  to 
Ernest.  Did  not  the  dream  foreshadow  a 
fearful  destiny,  if  sh«^  married  him  ?  All  that 
day  she  was  in  a  state  of  perplexing  indecision. 
But  circumstances  soon  enabled  her  to  reach 
a  conclusion ;  for  Xerxes,  to  her  surprise, 
called  that  very  evening.  He  looked  sad,  and 
seemed  to  be  greatly  embarrassed. 

"  I  cannot  stay  long,''  he  said  as  soon  as  they 
were  seated.    "  I  have  come  to  bid  you  adieu." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Clara  in  unfeigned 
astonishment,  but  suddenly  restraining  her 
emotion,  she  said : 

"  0,  you  are  going  off  on  business  ? " 

"No:  I  don't  expect  to  return." 

"  Why — is — it — is  it  not  a  sudden  con- 
clusion ? " 


A    RIVAL.  91 

"  It  is,  said  Xerxes.  ''  I  reached  it  on  leav- 
ing you  yesterday  evening.  I  learned  some- 
thing that  at  once  decided  me." 

"  It  seems  that  it  was  something  disagreea- 
ble, judging  by  your  looks  ?  " 

"Yes,  the  most  disagreeable  news  I  ever 
heard  in  my  life,"  exclaimed  Xerxes.  "  I  can- 
not remain  here  any  longer.  I  wish  I  had 
known  it  sooner.  I  should  have  controlled  my 
foolish  heart,  and  saved  myself  a  world  of 
sorrow." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Clara. 

"I  know  you  don't,  but  to  be  plain,  you  are 
the  cause  of  my  trouble." 

"I?     How  can  I  be?" 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  said  Xerxes,  speaking  as 
if  he  were  in  the  deepest  distress.  '^  I  heard  of 
your  engagement  yesterday  evening.  I  had 
;)ermitted  myself  to  entertain  hopes  in  regard 
to  you,  not  dreaming  that  I  had  a  rival.  I  do 
think  you  ought  to  have  informed  me  of  this 
fact,  in  common  charity." 

"You  never  asked  me,  Mr.  Comston." 

"  No :  but  when  you  saw  my  infatuation, 
you  might  have  thrown  out  a  hint,  that  your 
heart  was  pre-occupied.  But  you  allowed  me 
to  go  on  in  my  blindness  till  I  have  become 


92  DEEP   WATERS. 

hopelessly  entangled  in  the  web  of  Cupid.  I 
love  you  to  madness.  O,  why  did  you  not 
warn  me  ?  "  exclaimed  Xerxes  in  a  voice  of 
such  exquisite  anguish  that  Clara  felt  sorry, 
and  yet  glad. 

"  I  think  it  would  have  been  presumptuous 
in  me  to  have  done  so.  I  did  not  know  that 
you  cared  anything  for  me." 

"  Well,  it  is  useless  to  talk  about  it,  I  sup- 
pose. I  go  with  a  great  wound  in  my  heart 
which  nothing  on  earth  can  cure.  You  are 
lost  to  me  forever.  The  thought  drives  me 
mad.     I  cannot  remain  here." 

"  Why  should  you  go  ? "  asked  Clara 
timidly. 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  could  stay  here,  and  see 
you  the  bride  of  another?    No,  no,  never." 

''  Another  ?  whom  do  you  mean  ? " 

"  Why,  you  know— Mr.  Edgefield." 

"I  don't  think  I  will  ever  be  his  bride,"  re- 
plied Clara  in  a  low,  hesitating  tone. 

"  Are  you  not  engaged  to  him  ? "  asked 
Xerxes  eagerly. 

"Yes:  but  since  he  has  joined  the  Chris- 
tians, I  have  been  thinking  of  breaking  it  off. 
He  has  become  too  solemn  to  suit  me." 

"  0,  if  you  will  only  give  me  the  slightest 


A   EIVAL.  93 

grounds  for  hope,  this  town  would  be  the 
dearest  spot  on  earth  to  me.  Tell  me  that  I 
may  try  to  win  you,  and  I  will  be  raised  at 
once  from  the  very  depths  of  despair  to  the 
pinnacle  of  felicity." 

Xerxes  had  used  this  very  expression  at 
least  a  dozen  times  to  different  damsels,  but 
he  now  spoke  it  with  all  the  freshness  of  a 
first  utterance,  and  it  had  the  same  effect 
upon  Clara  as  if  it  had  been  the  spontaneous 
outgush  of  a  sentiment  struggling  to  find  vent 
in  suitable  language.  Subsequent  events  will 
show  what  reply  Clara  made. 

Ernest  could  not  be  blind  to  the  frequency 
of  Xerxes'  visits,  and  he  determined  to  put  an 
end  to  them  by  a  marriage  at  an  early  day  as 
he  could  prevail  upon  Clara  to  appoint.  He 
had  not  doubted  her  constancy,  but  since  the 
ball  he  dreaded  the  consequences  of  the  com- 
parisons between  himself  and  his  rival,  which 
it  was  but  natural  the  young  lady  should 
institute.  Accordingly,  the  next  time  he  call- 
ed, he  directed  the  conversation  to  their  en- 
gagement, and  said  earnestly : 

"  I  hope,  my  dear  Clara,  you  will  appoint 
the  day  for  our  union.  This  you  have  not  yet 
done.    You  have  only  said  it  would  be  in  the 


94  DEEP    WATERS. 

next  few  weeks,  which  is  indefinite.  I  can 
see  no  use  in  waiting  longer.  Please  make 
the  day  as  near  in  the  future  as  possible." 

Clara's  beautiful  face  at  once  assumed  an 
expression  of  ominous  seriousness  but  she 
spoke  promptly  and  directly  : 

"I  am  thinking  of  asking  you  to  release  me 
from  that  hasty  engagement." 

Ernest  turned  pale.  He  made  no  attempt  to 
conceal  his  amazement  and  anguish.  For  a 
moment  he  sat  as  if  petrified,  or  as  if  he  did 
not  clearly  understand  her.  Surely  she  could 
not  mean  what  these  words  signified  :  he  could 
not  believe  it,  for  did  she  not  love  him  ?  Why 
break  the  engagement?  0,  she  must  be  tan- 
talizing him  for  sport — yes,  that  was  all.  He 
would  humor  this  pleasantry.  Then  he  tried 
to  smile,  but  it  was  an  expressionless  distor- 
tion of  his  face.  ''  You  want  a  divorce,  do 
you?"  he  asked  in  a  husky  voice.  "Well, 
that  will  be  hard  to  get." 

"I  said  nothing  about  a  divorce,"  she  replied 
in  a  cold  manner. 

''  You  did  not  use  that  word,  I  know,  but  an 
engagement,  Clara,  solemnly  entered  into  is 
equivalent  to  marriage  in  the  sight  of  God. 
You  are  mine ;  how  can  I  release  you  ?" 


A   EIYAL.  95 

"I  see  no  difficulty  in  the  way  whatever. 
I'm  not  yours :  I  only  promised  to  be." 

''  Well,  are  you  going  to  deliberately  violate 
your  promise,  your  solemn  vow,  which  God 
witnessed?  How  can  you  do  such  a  thing? 
Did  you  mean  what  you  said  ?" 

"  Certainly,  I  did,  but  I  have  changed  my 
mind  :  I  don't  want  to  marry  you." 

"O,  Clara,  Clara,"  he  cried  in  agony,  "you 
crush  me  into  the  dust!  You  do  not  mean 
what  you  say — tell  me,  you  do  not  mean  it. 
5rou  merely  want  to  tantalize  me.  Well,  dear, 
do  you  not  see  that  I  cannot  endure  it?  I 
never  could  appreciate  jokes.  Come,  you 
have  had  enough  sport.  Be  serious,  and  ap- 
point the  day  for  our  marriage." 

"Mr.  Edgefield,"  she  said  firmly,  "I'm  not 
joking;  I'm  in  earnest,  and  I  ask  you  to  re- 
lease me  from  the  engagement." 

"Ask  God  to  release  you,"  cried  Ernest 
wildly,  and  see  if  He  will  do  it.  You  are  mine, 
Clara.  How  can  I  give  you  up  ?  It  would  be 
a  sin." 

"O,  pshaw  1"  said  Clara  contemptuously,  "  I 
see  no  sin  in  it.  I'll  never  marry  you.  Don't 
vou  understand  that  ?" 

^"1  see  how  it  is,"  suddenly  cried  Ernest 


96  DEEP   WATEES. 

•'that  tipi3ling  fop  has  deceived  you.  You 
surely  would  not  think  of  rejecting  me  for  a 
stranger  whose  moral  character  is  bad  ?  You 
are  too  wise  for  that.  Your  father  will  not 
permit  you  to  be  so  foolish." 

"I  give  you  to  understand,  sir,"  said  Clara 
reddening  with  anger,  "  my  father  will  not 
compel  me  to  marry  any  one  against  my  will. 
You  have  insulted  me.  Leave  me,  and  never 
speak  to  me  again." 

''  O,  Clara,  Clara,"  cried  Ernest,  wringing 
his  hands  in  anguish,  "  do  not  drive  me  from 
you  in  this  cruel  way.  I  beg  your  pardon.  I 
scarcely  knew  what  I  was  saying.  Forgive 
me,  if  I  said  anything  offensive." 

"  I'll  forgive  you,  if  you  will  leave  me,  and 
promise  never  again  to  call,  except  as  a 
friend." 

Ernest  fixed  his  eyes  upon  her  face,  and 
gazed  so  strangely  that  she  shrank,  and  hung 
her  head.  He  was  trembling  like  the  wind- 
shaken  aspen.  He  was  standing  on  the  verge 
of  an  abyss  of  darkness,  and  felt  the  ground 
giving  way  under  his  feet.  He  felt  as  if  the 
foundations  of  his  being  were  breaking  up,  and 
drifting  off,  leaving  him  to  sink  down  into  the 
horrid  blackness.     How  could  he  cry  to  God 


A   RIVAL.  97 

to  sustain  Mm  in  this  supreme  hour  of  dis- 
tress !  TJie  chilling  waves  were  rolling  over 
him :  a  great  suffocating  lump  seemed  to  be 
forming  in  his  heart.  His  soul  reeled.  He 
looked  up  to  the  ceiling  of  the  room,  and 
seemed  to  be  trying  to  see  through  it,  and 
beyond  it.  His  lips  worked  and  twitched  con- 
vulsively. 0,  it  is  pitiable  to  see  a  strong  man 
suddenly  hurled  from  his  normal  tranquillity 
down  to  the  dust  of  abject  despair,  at  the  feet 
of  an  unworthy  woman  ! 

Clara  gazed  at  him  with  feelings  of  mingled 
compassion  and  alarm.  She  was  still  more 
astonished,  when  he  suddenly  rose  to  his  feet, 
and,  without  appearing  to  see  her,  walked  out 
of  the  parlor.  She  noticed  that  his  face  was 
bloodless,  and  his  lips  were  firmly  compressed 
as  though  he  were  holding  back  some  terrible 
thought  which  was  struggling  to  find  egress. 
In  a  few  moments  his  rapid  footsteps  had  died 
away. 

"  What  a  strange  man  !  "  she  said.  I  wonder 
what  he  is  going  to  do  ?  I  'didn't  think  he 
would  take  it  so  hard  as  that.  But  marriage 
would  have  made  us  both  miserable." 

Thus  there  was  a  sudden  divergence  of  the 
path  of  destiny.     There  is  nothing  more  com- 


98  DEEP   WATERS. 

nion  in  the  affairs  of  this  life  than  these  un- 
expected transitions  from  one  condition  to 
another.  We  may  carefully  spread  the  warp 
on  the  loom,  but  the  shuttle  which  holds  the 
woof,  is  projected  by  an  unseen  hand.  Our 
well-settled  purposes,  our  deep-laid  schemes, 
are  thwarted,  and  scattered  to  the  winds.  We 
stand  astounded  and  appalled  in  the  wreck  of 
our  hopes  and  plans,  not  knowing  what  to  do, 
when  presently  we  turn,  and  behold  a  new 
path  opened,  and  uncontrollable  circumstances 
force  us  to  pursue  it. 


CHAPTER  Y. 


DEEP  WATERS. 


It  was  a  bright  moon-lit  niglit,  and  the  town 

of  showed  dimly  in  the   silvery  sheen 

which  vaguely  illuminated  the  half  of  every 
object.  It  was  calm  and  quiet.  The  people 
were  sitting  in  groups  on  the  galleries,  porti- 
coes and  piazzas  of  their  res]3ective  residences, 
enjoying  the  cooling  breezes  that  stole  out  of 
the  circumjacent  forests  and  crejDt  gently 
along  the  deserted  streets. 

"  'Twas  one  of  those  delicious  nights, 
So  common  in  the  climes  of  Greece, 
When  day  withdraws  but  half  his  lights. 
And  all  is  moonshine,  balm  and  peace.'* 

Ernest  and  Mr.  Hillston  were  sitting  in  the 
gallery  of  the  preacher's  residence.  The 
young  man  was  sad  and  silent. 

"  Ernest,"  said  Mr.  Hillston  kindly,  "  what  is 
the  matter  with  you  ?  You  have  not  been  like 
yourself  for  two  or  three  days.  You  seem  to 
be  in  deep  trouble." 

'*  So  I   am,   Mr.   Hillston.      I   am    wading 

99 


100  DEEP    WATERS. 

through  the  '  deep  waters '  about  which  you 
sing." 

"  I  knew  there  was  something  the  matter. 
Is  it  anything  you  can  tell  ?  Sometimes  it  is  a 
great  relief  to  unbosom  ourselves  to  a  kind 
friend,  who  can  sympathize  with  us,  if 
nothing  more." 

''  I  do  not  mind  telling  you,  Mr.  Hillston, 
though  I  cannot  see  that  it  will  do  any  good." 

"  You  do  not  know  that.  I  have  lived  a  long 
time  in  this  world,  and  have,  at  least,  tried  to 
comfort  a  great  many  people  under  clouds  of 
sorrow.  Probably  I  might  be  able  to  give  you 
some  advice  which  would  be  useful." 

"  Well,  you  know  I  was  engaged  to  be  mar 
ried  to  Clara  Yanclure  ?  " 

''  Yes ;  you  told  me  that." 

"  She  has  broken  the  engage. nent." 

"  For  what  reason  ?  " 

*'I  suspect  that  Comston  has  deceived  her." 

"Did  you  have  no  quarrel  with  her  ?  Fre- 
quently young  people  fall  out  about  trifles, 
and  soon  become  reconciled." 

"  No  ;  we  had  no  quarrel.  She  discarded 
me  coolly  and  deliberately." 

"  Well,  my  dear  bo3%"  said  Mr.  Hillston, 
with  tenderness,  "it  is  no  more  than  I  ex- 
pected." 


DEEP   WATEES.  101 

"Why?"  asked  Ernesfc. 

"  Do  you  not  remember  some  weeks  ago, 
wlien  you  told  me  about  the  affair,  that  you 
thought  I  did  not  approve  your  choice  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  distinctly." 

"  I  did  not  think  you  had  made  a  wise  selec- 
tion, and  as  I  did  not  congratulate  you  then,  I 
now  congratulate  you  on  the  happy  termina- 
tion of  the  affair." 

"  You  are  cruel,  Mr.  Hillston,"  said  Ernest, 
in  a  tone  of  bitterness. 

"  Far  from  it,  my  boy.  I  know  you  must 
suffer  for  a  while.  But  mark  what  I  say  :  you 
will,  no  doubt,  see  the  day  when  you  will 
regard  it  as  the  best  that  could  have  happened 
to  you.  I  w^as  surprised  at  your  choice,  but 
as  the  poet  says  : 

'Lovers  are  blind,  and  cannot  see 
The  petty  faults  themselves  commit.' 
But  I   could  see  that  Miss  Clara  would  not 
suit  you  at  all.     She  has  as  few  qualifications 
for  a  minister's  wife  as  any  lady  of  my  ac- 
quaintance." 

"  Minister's  wife!  "  exclaimed  Ernest.  "  She 
would  not  have  been  a  minister's  wife." 

"  I  see  you  are  still  disposed  to  disobey  the 
Divine   call ;  but  you  would  better  yield,  or 


102  DEEP    WATERS. 

your  present  trouble  will  be  only  the  begin- 
ning of  sorrows.  I  have  no  doubt  that  it  is 
foreordained  that  you  shall  be  a  preacher  of 
the  gospel." 

"Look  here,  Mr.  Hillston,"  cried  Ernest 
suddenly,  "I  have  been  reading  my  Bible  to 
discover  if  that  doctrine  of  predestination  is 
taught." 

"Well,  do  3^ou  find  it  in  God's  Word?" 
quietly  asked  Mr.  Hillston. 

"  I  think  not,  sir.  On  the  contrary,  I  find 
all  through  it  that  man  is  a  free  agent." 

"  My  dear  boy,  who  denies  that  man  is  a 
free  agent?  I  am  sure  that  I  will  endorse 
every  passage  which  you  can  cite  that 
teaches  human  responsibility." 

"Why,  I  do  not  see,  Mr.  Hillston,  how  you 
can  possibly  reconcile  predestination  with 
man's  free  moral  agenc}^" 

"  I  do  not  pretend  to  do  so,  Ernest.  You 
are  like  a  good  many  people  I  know,  who 
think  that  predestination  is  not  taught  in 
God's  Word,  because  they  cannot  make  it 
harmonize  with  free  agency.  I  have  frequent- 
ly been  amused  at  some  ministers  who  under- 
took to  show  that  there  is  no  such  doctrine 
as  fore- ordination  in  the  Bible.     They  quoted 


DEEP   WATERS.  103 

those  passages  wliicli  prove  that  man  is  a 
free  agent,  and  then  at  once  jumped  to  the 
conclusion  that  God  coukl  not  shape  or 
control  human  destiny.  We  must  accept  both 
doctrines,  for  both  are  clearly  taught  in  the 
Scriptures.  You  cannot  understand  the  Trin- 
ity, but  your  failure  to  comprehend  it  is  no 
proof  of  its  falsity,  is  it  ?  " 

''No,  sir,  of  course  not.  But  I  did  not 
think  you  could  hold  to  predestination  and 
free  agency  at  the  same  time.  What  do  you 
do  with  the  passage  of  Scripture  which  says 
that  '  Christ  tasted  death  for  every  man  ? '  " 

•'  Do  with  it  ?  I  accept  it  without  hesitation 
as  a  precious  truth." 

"  Well,  well,  well,"  said  Ernest,  as  though 
greatly  perplexed,  "  and  yet  you  say  that 
some  men  were  condemned  from  all  eternity. 
How  in  the  world  can  that  be?  'Whosoever 
will,'  says  the  Scripture,  '  let  him  take  the 
water  of  life  freely.'  " 

"  Certainly,"  answered  the  preacher,  gently. 
I  quote  that  in  every  sermon  I  preach,  and 
urge  sinners  to  avail  themselves  of  the  world- 
embracing  invitation." 

"  But  if  their  destiny  is  already  determined, 


104  DEEP    WATERS. 

what  is  the  use  of  your  preaclnug  to  them  aud 
urging  tliem  {  " 

"  Now,  my  bo}^,  don't  begin  at  the  roof  to 
build  your  house,  but  commence  at  the  founda- 
tion, and  work  upward.  Suppose  I  show  that 
this  '  horrid  doctrine,'  as  some  people  call  it, 
is  contained  in  God's  Word  ?  " 

''  Well,  I  wish  you  would," -said Ernest.  "I 
am  open  to  conviction." 

''  Then  let  us  go  into  my  study,  and  appeal 
to  the  Blessed  Book  itself;  for  it  should  be 
final  in  every  theological  controversy." 

They  were  soon  seated,  .and  the  old  man 
arranged  his  spectacles,  and  opened  tlie 
Bible. 

''It  seems  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Hillston,  ''  that 
the  eighth  and  ninth  chapters  of  the  epistle  to 
the  Romans  ought  to  remove  every  doubt  on 
this  subject.  You  have  surely  noticed  the 
celebrated  passage,  Romans  8  :  29.  Now  here 
it  is  :  '  Whom  He  did  fore-know,  He  didpredes- 
tinate.'^  What  does  predestinate  mean  ?  It 
has  only  one  meaning." 

''  That  is  true,"  said  Ernest,  ''  but  might  it 
not  refer  to  the  righteous  cJiaracter  f  He  did 
fore-know  and  predestinate  the  righteous  char- 
acter.    I  can  admit  that." 


DEEP   WATEES.  105 

''How  will  you  separate  a  man  from  liis 
character  ?  "  asked  Mr,  Hi  Us  ton.  ''  You  might 
Just  as  well  talk  of  separating  sugar  from  its 
sweetness.  What  is  the  character  of  sugar  ? 
It  is  sweet.  Can  you  deprive  it  of  this  attri- 
bute without  utterly  destroying  it?  Certain 
qualities  and  attributes  constitute  character, 
and  make  tlie  man.  If  a  man  has  no  charac- 
ter, he  is  a  brute.  Godliness,  holiness,  etc., 
are  nothing  till  they  become  concrete  by  en- 
tering into  the  moral  constitution  of  an  indi- 
vidual. It  is  in  vain,  then,  to  talk  about 
Grod's  saving  the  -righteous  character,'  be- 
cause that  is  nothing  but  an  abstraction. 
Besides,  Paul  says,  'whom'  He  did  fore-know, 
not  '  what.' 

•'I  will  take  back  the  word  'character,'  if 
you  will  allow  me,"  said  Ernest,  "and  say 
that  God  predestinates  the  righteous  man?' 

"Yery  well,"  replied  Mr.  Hillston.  ''We 
agree,  then,  it  is  the  Indmidual  that  is  fore- 
ordained to  salvation.  All  denominations  are 
agreed  that  there  is  an  election  of  some  sort. 
Let  me  ask  upon  what  principle  you  think 
God  elects  men  to  salvation  ?  " 

"  Why,  sir,  God  elects  those  to  salvation 
who  He  fore-saw  would  repent  of  their  sins." 


106  DEEP    WATERS. 

"  That  view,"  said  Mr.  Hillston,  "  is  a  flat 
contradiction  of  what  Paul  says.  The  apostle 
describes  the  several  steps  or  processes  in 
the  believer's  salvation.  He  does  not  say  that 
God  predestinated  those  who  would  repent,  but 
those  '  whom  He  did  predestinate  He  called^ 
and  them  tliat  He  called  B.e  justlfled.''  Ac- 
cording to  your  view,  the  passage  ought  to 
say  :  '  Them  whom  He  justified,  on  account  of 
their  repentance.  He  predestinated.'  The  plain 
meaning  of  the  passage  is,  that  God  predes- 
tinated some  men  to  salvation,  and  in  conse- 
quence of  that  election,  He  called  them  and 
justified  them.  The  apostle  reiterates  this 
view  in  some  of  the  other  epistles.  Here  is 
Eph.  1:3,  4,  5:  'Blessed  be  the  God  and 
Father  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  who  hath 
blessed  us  with  all  spiritual  blessings  in 
heavenly  places  in  Christ.  According  as  He 
hath  chosen  us  in  Him  before  the  foundation 
of  the  world,  that  we  should  be  holy  and  with- 
out blame  before  Him  in  love.  Having  pre- 
destinated us  unto  the  adoption  of  children 
by  Jesus  Christ  to  Himself  according  to  the 
good  pleasure  of  His  will.'  Now,"  continued 
Mr.  Hillston,  "  ought  not  this  passage  to  put 
an   end   to    all    controversy  ?      The    apostle 


DEEP   AYATERS.  107 

declares  there  was  an  election.  When  ?  He 
says  '  before  the  foundation  of  the  world.' 
Why  did  He  choose  us  ?  Was  it  because  we 
were  righteous?  No.  Was  it  because  God 
fore-saw  that  we  would  repent  'i  'No.  "  He 
chose  us  that  '  we  should  become  holy  and 
without  blame.''    Now  what  do  you  say  ?  *' 

''  I  confess,"  said  Ernest,  ''  that  such  pas- 
sages puzzle  me  no  little.  Why  does  God 
choose  some  men  to  salvation,  and  pass  by 
others,  when  all  are  guilty  alike  ?  " 

"  Ah !  there's  the  difficulty,"  said  Mr. 
Hillston.  "  The  good  Lord  has  not  informed 
us  on  what  princii3le  He  makes  the  choice.  If 
we  knew  that,  there  would  be  an  end  of  all 
discussion.  All  Ave  know  about  it  is,  that  it 
is  '  according  to  the  good  pleasure  of  His  will.' 
Is  not  that  a  sufficient  reason  ? " 

''  Somehow,  this  doctrine  of  predestination 
appears  to  me  to  be  unjust,"  said  Ernest,  look- 
ing confused.  ''  You  say  that  God  passes  by 
some  men  without  giving  them  an  opportunity 
to  be  saved." 

"  I  did  not  say  that,  Ernest." 

"  Well,  it  amounts  to  that." 

"  On  the  contrary,  they  do  have  *an  oppor- 
tunity to  be   saved.     The   invitations   of  the 


108  DEEP   WATEKS. 

gospel  are  extended  to  all  alike,  and  all  could 
be  saved,  if  they  would.  No  man  ever  was 
lost  simply  on  account  of  the  'eternal  decrees.'  " 

"  Why,  how  can  they  be  saved,"  asked 
Ernest,  "if  it  is  predestinated  that  they  shall 
not  accept  the  invitations  offered  to  them  ?  " 

"But,  my  young  friend,  the  Bible  does  not 
say  that  the}^  sliall  not  accept,  but  that  they 
will  not.  '  Ye  will  not  come  unto  me  that  ye 
might  have  life,'  said  our  Lord.  The  greatest 
obstacle  in  the  way  of  human  salvation  is 
found  in  the  perversity  of  the  will.  If  men 
only  loilled  to  be  saved,  the}^  could  be.  How, 
then,  is  there  injustice  in  predestination  i '' 

"Well,"  said  Ernest,  "if  some  men  are  fore- 
ordained to  eternal  death,  I  should  like  to 
know  what  is  the  use  of  your  preaching  to 
them?" 

"  When  you  get  to  be  a  minister,  if  you  dis- 
card predestination  and  election,  I  want  to  ask 
you  a  question  or  two,"  said  Mr.  Hillston. 
"  Assuming  that  you  area  preacher,  I  will  ask 
you  these  questions  now." 

"  Very  well ;  proceed." 

"  You  believe  in  God's  fore-knowledge?" 

"Certainiy." 


DEI  P   WATERS.  109 

"Do  you  believe  that  all  men  will  be 
saved?" 

"No,  sir;  some  will  be  lost,''  answered 
Ernest. 

"  That  is  certain,  is  it  ? " 

"Of  course,  it  is." 

"Then,"  said  Mr.  Hillston,  "what  is  the 
use  of  your  preaching  to  certain  men  that  God 
knows  will  be  lost  ?  Will  not  the  same  result 
follow  in  both  instances  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  but  I  throw  the  responsibility  of 
refusing  upon  themselves." 

"Let  us  settle  one  thing  at  a  time,  if  you 
please,"  said  Mr.  Hillston.  "  We  are  not 
talking  about  where  the  responsibility  be- 
longs ;  but,  at  present,  we  want  to  get  at 
the  facts.  I  aslv  you,  if  God  fore-knows  that 
some  men  will  be  lost,  is  not  their  destiny  as 
much  fixed  as  if  it  had  been  decreed  ?  Answer 
that." 

"  I  suppose  it  would  be,"  replied  Ernest 
hesitatingly,  as  though  he  were  fearful  of  ad- 
mitting too  much,  "but  God's  fore-knowledge 
has  no  effect  upon  human  destiny." 

"It  does  not  matter  about  that  just  now. 
People."  continued  Mr.  Hillston,  "  frequently 
ask  me   the   question   which  you   have   pro- 


110  DEEP   WATEES. 

pounded.  What  is  the  use  of  preaching  to 
men  that  are  certain  to  be  lost  ?  You  must 
not  try  to  make  me  remove  an  objection  which 
applies  with  as  much  force  to  your  system  as 
to  mine.  God  commands  us  to  preach  the 
gospel  to  every  creature,  and  that  is  reason 
enough.  You  remember  that  God  commanded 
Ezekiel  to  preach  to  the  dry  bones  in  the 
valley.  The  prophet  plight  have  said,  '  What 
is  the  use  ?  These  bones  have  no  life  and  no 
sense.  They  cannot  hear  :  it  is  foolish  to  talk 
to  them.'  But  God  said,  'Preach  to  them.' 
Sinners  are  in  the  condition  of  those  dry  bones  ; 
but  God  tells  me  to  preach  to  them.  I  obey  ; 
I  know  not  who  are  to  be  lost :  my  duty  is  to 
preach,  and  God  quickens  whom  He  will." 

"  I  see  the  unfairness  of  my  question,"  said 
Ernest  honestly.  "But  there  is  an  absurdity 
in  the  doctrine  of  predestination,  if  I  only 
knew  how  to  point  it  out." 

''  Look  here,  my  boy,"  said  Mr.  Hills  ton 
kindly,  "  how  can  you  call  that  an  'absurdity  ' 
which  the  Bible  so  clearly  teaches?  " 

*'Ibeg  pardon,  Mr.  Hillston;  I  will  recall 
the  offensive  word.  I  will  substitute  the  word 
injustice  for  absurdity." 

"  Your  apology  does  not  mend  the  matter," 


DEEP   WATERS.  Ill 

answered  Mr.  Hillston,  ''for  are  you  going  to 
accuse  God  of  injustice  ?  " 

''  iSTo,  sir ;  but  the  question  is  whether  it  is 
a  doctrine  of  the  Bible." 

"Exactly.  We  agreed  to  let  the  Bible 
settle  it,"  said  Mr.  Hillston.  ''  I  have  already 
called  your  attention  to  several  passages 
which  undoubtedly  teach  it.  I  can  refer  to 
instances  and  passages  almost  without  num- 
ber in  the  Scriptures.  The  Bible  certainly  is 
not  silent  on  the  subject,  whether  we  can  un-. 
derstand  it  or  not." 

"I  cannot  understand,"  said  Ernest,  ''how 
a  man  can  be  a  free  agent,  and  yet  his  destiny 
is  already  lixed." 

"And  yet,  the  Bible  is  full  of  instances 
which  prove  clearly  that  predestination  and 
free  agency  operate  in  perfect  harmony." 

"  Name  one,"  said  Ernest. 

"Well,  take  the  case  of  Judas  Iscariot :  it 
was  predicted  by  Isaiah  that  the  Lord  Jesus 
should  be  betrayed  for  thirty  pieces  of  silver. 
Will  you  not  admit  that  God  had  Judas  in 
His  mind,  when  this  prophecy  was  made?" 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Ernest,  "  for  a  betrayal 
necessarily  implies  a  betrayer." 

"  Undoubtedly,  because  God  could  not  fore- 


112  DEEP    WATERS. 

see  a  betrayal  disconnected  entirely  from  any 
individual.  Yon  will  also  admit  that  after 
the  prediction  was  made,  it  must  be  fulfilled, 
and  Judas  must  betray  Christ  ? " 

"  I  do  not  see  that  I  must  admit  that." 

"But  you  must,  though,"  said  Mr.  Hillston. 

"  Why  must  I  ?  "  asked  Ernest. 

"  Well,  suppose  Judas  had  not  betrayed  the 
Lord  for  thirty  pieces  of  silver,  what  would 
have  become  of  Isaiah's  prophec}^  ?  Would 
it  not  have  been  falsified  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Ernest  a  little  dog- 
gedly. 

*'  Suppose  so  !  "  cried  Mr.  Hillston.  "How 
can  tbere  possibly  be  any  doubt  about  it  ? 
After  a  prophesy  is  uttered,  and  even  written 
down,  it  must  be  fulfilled,  or  God's  word  is 
falsified." 

''  Yes  ;  I  admit  that,  for  the  sake  of  argu- 
ment." 

''  Well,  when  the  proper  time  arrived,  Judas 
betrayed  the  Lord.  He  evidently  performed 
a  part  which  was  predestinated.  Was  he  not 
a  free  agent  ?  " 

"Not  if  he  was  compelled  to  do  as  he  did," 
answered  Ernest. 

"  No.  if  he  was  compelled,"  replied  Mr.  Hill- 


DEEP    WATEES.  113 

ston,  "  but  where  was  the  compulsion  ?  He 
was  carrying  out  his  own  will  and  if  he  was, 
that  makes  him  a  free  agent.  His  conduct 
afterwards  proves  that  he  never  felt  that  he 
was  constrained  by  any  extraneous  influence. 
The  crucifixion  was  foretold  with  all  its  at- 
tendant prominent  circumstances,  and  to  prove 
that  it  was  predestinated,  let  us  turn  to  Acts 
2  :  23.  'Him  being  delivered  by  the  determi- 
nate counsel  and  fore-linowledge  of  God,  ye 
have  talien,  and  by  loicked  hands  have  cru- 
cifled  and  slain. ^ 

"Here  it  is  emphatically  declared  that  Jesus 
was  delivered  by  the  determinate  counsel  of 
God.  To  show  that  the  actors  in  the  disgrace- 
ful tragedy  were  free  agents,  it  is  said  that 
they  crucifled  Him  with  wicked  hands.  But 
to  put  it  be3^ond  all  dispute,  that  it  was  all 
predestinated,  let  us  turn  to  Acts  4 :  27-28  : 
'For  of  a  truth  against  thy  holy  child  Jesus, 
lohom  Thou  hoM  anointed,  both  Herod  and 
Pontius  Pilate,  with  the  Gentiles,  and 
the  people  of  Israel,  were  gathered  together^ 
for  to  do  'Whatsoever  thy  hand  and  thy  coun- 
sel determined  before  to  be  done.^ 

"Here,  the  actors  are  all  clearly  specified. 
They  met  at  a  certain  place.     For  what  ?     To 


Il4  DEEP   WATERS. 

do  whatsoever  God  had  determined  before 
should  be  done.  Yon  can  get  no  other  mean- 
ing out  of  it.  Dr.  Adam  Clarke  saw  a  difficnlty 
here,  and  he  took  the  liberty  to  transpose  the 
passage  so  as  to  make  it  read  thus  :  '  For  a 
trutJi  against  thy  holy  child  Jesus,  whom  Thou 
hast  anointed,  for  to  do  lohatsoever  thy  hand 
and  thy  counsel  determined  before  to  be 
done.'' 

"  Dr.  Clarke  thus  makes  the  predestination 
clause  appl}^  to  Jesus,  instead  of  Herod,  and 
the  others.  It  seems  the  Doctor  did  not  mind 
stripping  Jesus  of  free  agency,  just  so  lie 
could  preserve  it  to  men.  But  Mr.  Benson, 
who  had  no  leaning  towards  predestination, 
says  that  such  a  trans j)osition  as  Clarke 
makes  is  unauthorized  and  unnecessary." 

"Do  you  think,"  asked  Ernest,  "that  Dr. 
Clarke  was  insincere  ?  I  mean,  do  you  believe 
he  discovered  the  doctrine  of  predestination 
in  that  passage,  and  then  deliberately  tried 
to  eliminate  it  ?  " 

"  O,  no,"  replied  Mr.  Hillston,  "I  think  he 
honestly  believed  that  the  doctrine  of  predes- 
tination, as  taught  by  most  Baptist  ministers 
and  especially  by  the  Presbyterian  Church, 
has  no  foundation  in  the  Scriptures,  and   thus 


DEEP   WATEES.  115 

believing,  he  could  not  admit  the  plain  mean- 
ing of  what  seems  to  me  a  plain  passage. 
He,  no  doubt,  thought  by  transposing  a  clause, 
he  would  make  the  Bible  say  what  was  in- 
tended. But  what  does  the  Doctor  gain  by 
this  transposition  ?  If  Jesus  was  not  a  free 
agent,  we  are  under  no  obligation  to  Him  for 
fulfilling  the  law  in  our  stead  and  suffering 
for  us.  He  was  merely  undergoing  a  penalty 
which  He  could  not  avoid.  Was  it  not  neces- 
"sary  that  Jesus  should  be  a  free  agent  as  well 
as  that  men  should  ?  " 

''But  according  to  your  view,"  said  Ernest, 
"  He  could  be  a  free  agent,  and  yet  His  ca- 
reer be  fore-ordained." 

"  Exactly,  but  according  to  Dr.  Clarke's 
view,  if  His  career  was  foreordained,  He 
could  not  be  a  free  agent ;  that  is  the  dif- 
ference. These  men,  Herod,  Pilate,  and  the 
others,  carried  out  their  own  will  and  the 
Divine  will  at  the  same  time,  and  1  see  no 
difficult}^  in  it.  That  is  the  great  advantage 
the  predestinarian  has.  When  he  meets  with 
a  passage  that  teaches  predestination,  he  ad- 
mits it ;  and  when  he  meets  with  another  that 
teaches  free  agency,  he  admits  it.  He  makes 
no  pause  to  try  to  reconcile  them,  because  he 


116  DEEP   WATEES. 

sees  no  inconsistency.  But  when  Dr.  Clarke, 
and  those  who  believe  like  him,  come  to  one 
of  these  passages,  '  hard  to  be  understood,'  as 
Peter  says,  the}'  halt  and  endeavor  to  harmo- 
nize it  with  their  belief.  When  the  Bible,  in 
speaking  of  Pharaoh,  says,  "  Fortius  purpose 
have  I  raised  thee  up,"  we  predestinarians  at 
once  acknowledge  God's  hand,  and  we  read 
on  without  stopping  to  explain.  But  Dr. 
Clarke  comes  to  it  and  finds  an  obsta-cle.  He 
must  pause  aud  tr}^  to  determine  what  is  meant 
by  '  raising  up,'  and  must  explain  it  so  as  not 
to  interfere  with  man's  free  agency.  We  read 
that  God  hardened  Pharaoh's  heart  and  in  the 
next  passage  we  read  that  Pharaoh  hardened 
his  own  heart.  We  predestinarians  find  no 
difficulty  here,  for  we  see  the  two  doctrines 
working  together  in  perfect  harmony,  but  Dr. 
Clarke  becomes  puzzled.  '  How  is  this  V  he 
says.  '  If  God  hardened  Pharaoh's  heart,  how 
could  Pharoah  have  hardened  his  own  heart  ?' 
So  the  good  Doctor  must  enter  into  a  long  ex- 
planation of  this  hardening  process." 

"  One  of  the  passages  you  have  quoted," 
said  Ernest,  who  appeared  to  be  confused  by 
perplexing  thoughts,  ''  says, '  according  to  the 
fore-knowledge.'      Could  it  not  have  been  that 


DEEP    WATEES.  117 

God  merely  fore-saw  what  Judas  and  others 
would  do  and  based  the  prophecy  upon  fore- 
knowledge ?" 

'•  That  only  removes  the  difficulty  one  step," 
replied  Mr.  Hillston.  "  For  whatever  God 
fore-saw,  must  take  place.  But  the  passage 
says  also  '  determinate  counsels.'  What 
does  that  mean  ?" 

''I  know  you  think  it  means  predestina- 
tion." 

"I  certainly  do,"  replied  Mr.  Hillston.  "But 
I  think  we  have  found  predestination  in  at 
least  two  instances  which  prove  that  there  is 
no  conliict  between  the  two  principles  we  are 
discussing.  If  fore-ordination  and  free  agency 
could  work  in  harmony  in  the  case  of  Judas, 
why  not  in  the  case  of  every  human  being.  I 
want  to  ask  you  a  question  right  here." 

''I  will  answer  it,  if  I  can,"  said  Ernest. 

"  You  have  aleady  acknowledged  that  God 
fore-knows  all  things,  'every  deed  which  men 
will  perform  and  even  every  thought  which 
will  pass  through  their  minds.  Noav  suppose 
God  should  order  some  Jeremiah  to  write  out 
the  history  of  every  human  being  :  we  would 
have  a  tremendous  book  of  prophecy  which 
would  include  every  individual  of  the  human 


118  DEEP  WATEES. 

race.  You  will  admit  that  all  these  prophecies 
would  have  to  be  accomplished  or  God's  word 
would  Ibe  falsified.  You  will  admit,  also,  that 
if  no  one  knew  anj^thing  about  this  great  and 
enormous  book  except  the  Avriter,  men 
would  be  free  agents  ?  How  could  merely 
recording  their  actions  without  their  knowl- 
edge affect  their  conduct  ? ' 

"It  could  not,"  said  Ernest. 

"  Well,  then,  are  men's  actions  any  the 
less  uncertain  because  they  are  not  written 
out  in  a  book?  The  history  of  every  human 
being  is  written  out  in  the  Divine  Mind.  Is  that 
history  any  the  less  uncertain  because  it  is  not 
published  in  a  tangible  volume  ?  God's  not 
fore-telling  what  Re  fore-knows,  does  not  leave 
men  at  liberty  to  change  their  conduct.  If 
it  did,  the  Lord  could  fore-know  nothing 
with  certainty.  If  then  God  could  write  out 
the  history  of  every  human  being  without  do- 
ing the  least  violence  to  his  free  agency,  how 
can  you  object  to  predestination  ?  My  history 
is  fixed,  and  so  is  yours  and  every  other  man's, 
and  that  is  predestination.'' 

Ernest  said  nothing,   and  Mr.  Hillston  con- 
tinued : 

"  But  let  us  turn   to   the   Scriptures   again. 


DEEP   WATEES.  119 

Here  is  John  15  :  16i  'Ye  have  not  chosen  me, 
hut  I  have  chosen  you.'  Again,  1  Cor.  1  :  26: 
^FoT  ye  see  your  calling,  brethren,  how  that  not 
many  wise  men  after  the  flesli,  not  many 
mighty,  not  many  noble  are  called,'  etc.  I 
conld  refer  to  a  great  many  passages  of  simi- 
lar import.  Is  not  election  clearly  tanglit  in 
sncli  Scriptnres  I  Then  it  is  said  that  God 
did  not  choose  His  people  on  account  of  their 
righteous  character,  but  that  He  might  make 
them  righteous.  When  they  were  chosen,  they 
were  children  of  wrath  even  as  others.  This 
is  proved  in  the  15th  chapter  of  John,  where 
Jesus,  speaking  of  His  people  under  the 
similitude  of  sheep,  says  :  "Other  sheep  Ihave 
which  are  not  of  this  fold" — that  is  thej^ 
were  in  the  world  out  of  the  fold  ;  they  were 
sinners  and  yet  were  God's  people,  to  be 
brought  in,  when  it  should  please  God. 

"  I  do  no  see  how  anyone  can  read  the  eighth 
and  ninth  chapters  of  Romans  without  believ- 
ing in  the  doctrine  of  predestination  and  elec- 
tion. Paul  there  answers  the  very  objections 
which  are  to  this  day  urged  against  divine 
fore-ordination.  Peter  certainly  understood 
Paul  to  advocate  this  '  horrid  doctrine,'  for  he 
says  it  is    '  hard  to  be   understood.'      If  Paul 


120  DEEP    WATERS. 

was  writing  about  free  agenc3^  there   was  no 
need  to  saj  it  was  hard  to  be  understood." 

'•  I  have  read  these  chapters,"  said  Ernest, 
"  and  I  confess  they  are  mysterious." 

"What  makes  them  mjsteiious  ?"  asked 
Mr.  Hills  ton.  "  Don't  you  see  if  you  can  elim- 
inate predestination  and  election  out  of  them, 
they  would  not  be  mysterious  ?  Why  do  so 
many  peojjle  stumble  over  these  chapters  es- 
pecially ?  It  is  because  their  foot  strikes 
against  these  two  hard  doctrines." 

'•  You  have  used  the  word  '  election,'  "  said 
Ernest,  ''but  do  not  some  people  say  that  it 
applies  only  to  the  election  of  classes  or  na- 
tions to  temporal  privileges,  and  not  to  the 
election  of  individuals  to  eternal  salvation  ?" 
"  Yes  ;  but  let  us  settle  that  point  b}^  the 
Scriptures.  Tnrn  to  Acts  13:  48:  'Andwlien 
tlie  Gentiles  litard  tliis  tliey  loere  glad^  and 
glorified  tlie  loord  of  ilie  Lord ;  and,  as  many 
as  icerv  ordained  to  eternal  life  helieved.'^ 
Some  people  have  wished  that  the  last  clause 
could  be  transposed  so  as  to  read:  'As 
many  as  believed  loere  ordained^  to  eternal 
life!'  But  it  is  too  plain  to  be  tampered  with 
in  this  way.  Again,  in  second  Thessalonians 
2  :  13  :      '  But  we  are  hound  to  give  tJtanlxs  cd- 


DEEP   WATERS.  121 

ways  to  God  for  you,  brethren,  helo'Ged  of  the 
Lord,  because  God.  hath  from  the  beginning 
chosen  you  to  salvatton  through  sanctification 
of  the  Spirit  and  belief  of  the  truth?  Again, 
Hebrews  12  :  23  :  ^  To  the  general  assembly 
and  Church  of  the  first-born  lohicJi  are  writ- 
ten in  heamn.^  Again,  Philippians  4:3: 
'  Whose  names  are  in  the  book  of  life.''  I 
could  go  ou,  and  cite  I  know  not  how  many 
more  passages,  all  proving  that  there  is  an 
election  of  individuals  unto  eternal  salvation." 

"  There  is  evidently  an  election  of  indivi- 
duals," said  Ernest,  "  but  why  could  it  not  be 
based  upon  men's  foreseen  repentance  and 
faith.     I  could  accept  that  doctrine." 

"  No  doubt,"  answered  the  preacher,  "  for 
that  is  more  agreeable  to  the  carnal  heart.  Men 
like  so  much  to  deserve  salvation  by  their  own 
works — their  own  faith  and  repentance. 
According  to  the  Scriptures,  this  election  is 
based  upon  God's  will.  But  if  you  will  modify 
your  position  a  little,  I  think  Ave  can  agree.  If 
you  will  sa}^  that  this  election  is  based  upon 
faith  and  repentance  brought  about  by  the 
Holy  Spirit,  we  need  not  have  any  further  dis- 


122  DEEP  WATEES. 

"  But  I  do  not  mean  that.  I  mean  that  men 
perceive  the  truth  and  act  upon  it." 

"  Of  themselves,  do  you  mean  ? " 

"  Well,  v^ith  the  assistance  of  the  Holy 
Spirit." 

"But  men,"  said  Mr.  Hillston,  "are  repre- 
sented in  the  Scriptures  as  dead  in  trespasses 
and  sins.  Lazarus  is  a  fit  type  of  the  sinner. 
Could  Lazarus  have  raised  himself  from  the 
grave  v^ithout  the  assistance  of  the  Lord  ?  Is 
it  not  evident  that  he  could  do  nothing  till  he 
was  actually  restored  to  life  ?  So  it  was  with 
the  man  who  had  the  diseased  arm.  He  could 
not  make  an  effort  till  the  limb  was  healed. 
'  By  grace  are  ye  saved,'  says  the  Scripture, 
'  through  faith,  and  that  not  of  yourselves  ;  it 
is  the  gift  of  God.'  Are  not  all  these  passages 
sufficient  to  convince  and  satisfy  yon?" 

"  Of  course,  I  must  believe  what  the  Bible 
says,"  replied  Ernest,  "  but  it  does  appear 
strange  to  me  how  a  man  can  be  a  free  agent, 
and  yet  his  destiny  is  fixed." 

"  No  one  evet  denied  that  it  is  strange. 
Indeed,  it  is  incomprehensible;  but  we  are 
not  to  reject  it  on  that  account.  All  Ave  have 
to  do  is  to  ascertain  whether  it  is  contained  in 
God's  Word  or  not.   But  after  all,  what  do  we 


DEEP    WATEES.  12B 

mean  by  predestination  ?  Why  just  this,  that 
God  had  a  purpose  in  view  in  the  creation  of 
the  world.  He  surely  was  not  trjdng  experi- 
ments. He  did  not  put  men  in  the  world,  and 
turn  them  loose,  to  see  what  they  would  do. 
You  will  not  deny  that  He  fore-knew  who 
would  be  saved  and  who  would  be  lost  ?  " 

"  No,  I  do  not  deny  that." 

'*Well,    there  is   no   power  in  mere   fore 
knowledge.     Would  not  God,  then,  have  to 
exercise  power  in  order  to  accomplish   what 
He  fore-knew  ? " 

"It  seems  that  He  would,  sir." 

"  Well,  that  is  predestination.  It  is  the 
execution  of  the  divine  purpose.  So  you  see 
that,  without  predestination,  God  could  not 
have  made  the  world — could  not  have  created 
man.  Notwithstanding  that  He  fore- saw  some 
would  be  lost,  He  determined  to  create  them, 
and  that  determination  on  the  part  of  God,  is 
predestination.  Then,  eliminate  predestina- 
tion, and  you  represent  God  in  the  attitude  of 
a  sort  of  empiricist.  He  creates  men  without 
any  particular  purpose  in  view.  Besides,  there 
is  another  difficulty.  When  there  was  nothing 
in  existence,  how  could  God  foresee  anything 
except  what  He  had  determined  upon  ?    Would 


124  DEEP    WATERS. 

not  God  have  to  determine  that  things  should 
be,  before  He  could  fore-see  them  ?  I  cannot 
imagine  how  the  Lord  could  have  made  the 
world  without  predestination.  Man,  with 
His  limited  wisdom,  never  undertakes  enter- 
prises without  determining  something  in 
regard  to  them.  Do  you  suppose  that  God  put 
men  here  without  any  purpose?  " 

"  IS'o,  sir ;  of  course,  He  had  a  purpose." 

"  Really,  when  you  admit  that,  there  is  no 
ase  of  discussion,  for  that  purpose  is  predesti- 
nation. We  can  ascertain  what  God's  pur- 
poses are,  only  by  what  takes  place.  We  see 
that  some  men  are  lost  and  some  are  saved,  and 
all  this  must  be  in  accordance  with  God's  pur- 
pose, and  that  is  what  we  mean  by  predesti- 
nation." 

"  You  can  beat  me  in  argument,"  suddenly 
exclaimed  Ernest.  "I  have  not  studied  the 
question  sufficiently." 

"  The  more  you  study  it,"  said  Mr.  Hills  ton, 
"  the  more  you  will  be  convinced  that  it  is  the 
doctrine  of  the  Bible." 

''  Whenever  I  am  convinced,"  replied  Ernest, 
^*you  may  rest  assurred  that  I  will  accept  it. 
But  I  am  not  satisfied.  What  you  have  said 
appears  reasonable  ;  but  I  know  there  is  some- 


DEKP    WATERSl.  125 

tiling  to  be  said  on  the   other  side,  if  I  knew 
how  to  get  at  it." 

''  I  don't  know,"  answered  Mr.  Hillston ;  "you 
have  mentioned  the  usual  objections  that  men 
urge  against  it.  But  when  you  find  any  good 
argument  on  your  side,  let  me  know  what  it  is. 
Let  me  caution  you  on  one  point,  though.  Do 
not  seek  out  those  passages  of  Scripture  which 
teach  free  agency,  and  put  them  against  the 
passages  that  favor  predestination.  For  that 
is  only  fighting  Scripture  with  Scripture. 
You  must  not  make  the  Bible  contradict  itself, 
but  you  must  try  to  reconcile  these  seemingly 
antagonistic  passages.  In  the  meantime,  try 
to  apply  this  doctrine  to  your  own  case.  Your 
steps  are  ordered  by  the  Lord.  Recognize 
God's  hand  in  your  affairs,  and  thus  predesti- 
nation becomes  a  practical,  comforting  doc- 
trine, instead  of  that  '  horrid  thing '  which 
some  people  call  it." 

Ernest  took  his  leave.  He  was  almost  con- 
vinced by  the  arguments  of  My  Hillston,  but 
he  was  not  yet  prepared  to  acknowledge  it. 

Men  pride  themselves  upon  consistency,  and 
some  will  even  cling  to  an  error  rather  than 
appear  fickle-minded.  Away,  we  say,  with 
such  absurd  and  false  consistency!  It  is 
morally  degrading. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


MANASSAS. 


While  the  never-ceasing  march  of  time  was 
imfoldiDg  the  events  which  have  been  narrated, 
others  of  a  more  startling  and  melancholy 
character  were  evolving  from  the  womb  of  the 
future.  We  have  now  reached  the  liistorical 
year  of  1861,  which  has  already  taken  its  place 
along  with  other  famous  periods  that  have 
marked  the  turning  points  in  humanity's 
progress.  The  reader,  in  order  fully  to  under- 
stand the  present  story,  must  again  gaze  in 
imagination  at  the  gloomy  clouds  of  war,  and 
listen  to  the  awful  earthquake  of  battle,  the 
sharp  rattle  of  musketry,  varied  with  the  deep 
bass  of  cannon,  the  thundering  tramp  of 
cavalry,  the  deafening  shouts  of  the  victor,  and 
the  piteous  groans  of  the  wounded  and  djdng. 

On  the  morning  of  the  21st  July  1861,  at 
early  dawn,  the  boom  of  a  single  cannon  broke 
the  solemn  stillness  and  sacred  silence  of  the 
Lord's  day.    It  was  the  signal  gun  of  Manassas, 

126 


MANASSAS.  127 

fired  by  the  Federal  troops  opposite  the  stone 
bridge  which  spans  the  now  celebrated  rivulet 
known  as  Bull  Eun.  It  was  thirty  minutes 
past  six  o'clock  when  this  gun  awoke  the  first 
echoes  of  the  initial  battle  of  the  so-called  great 
"Rebellion." 

General  McDowell,  as  rapidly  as  possible, 
pushed  forward  his  forces  to  the  main  point  of 
attack,  which  was  the  left  wing  of  the  Con- 
federatOi  army,  resting  at  the  stone  bridge.  It 
appears  that  it  was  General  Beauregard's 
intention  to  make  an  aggressive  movement  by 
attacking  the  enemy's  left  wing,  but  suddenly 
his  plan  was  turned  against  himself,  and  he 
was  forced  to  act  upon  the  defensive.  General 
Hunter  threw  his  command  forward,  and 
crossed  Bull  Run  "some  distance  above  the 
stone  bridge.  The  extreme  Confederate  left 
was  held  by  Evans  who  had  only  fifteen  com- 
panies of  infantry  and  Latham's  battery  of  six- 
pounders.  A  demonstration  was  made  in  his 
front  at  stone  bridge  while  Hunter  was  cross- 
ing at  Suddle  ford.  As  soon  as  this  movement 
of  Hunter's  was  rei3orted  to  Evans,  he  took 
eleven  companies,  leaving  four  to  guard  the 
bridge,  and  with  this  small  force  rapidly  went 
forward  to  sustain  the  shock  of  30,000  men.     It 


128  DEEP   WATERS. 

seemed  impossible  that  this  little  Spartan  band 
could  stand  before  the  impetuous  onset  of  an 
enthusiastic    army,    outnumbering    tliem   by 
twenty  to  one.     But  Beauregard  and  Johnson 
were  several  miles  off,  and  Evans  must  assume 
the  responsibility  of  giving  shape  to  the  battle. 
History  hardly  gives  this  man  the  praise  which 
is  due,  who,  without  any  authority  to  order  up 
reinforcements,  had  to  initiate  a  movement  of 
his  own  in  the  very  face  of  the  defeated  plans 
of  the  commanding  General.     Had  it  not  been 
for  Evan's  prompt  action  and  his  quick  com- 
prehension of  tlie  critical  situation,  the  whole 
Confederate    army    might    soon     have    been 
thrown     into     inextricable     confusion.     But 
Evans,   at   once,   perceived  the   necessity    of 
checking  McDowell's   army    till   Beauregard 
could  form  a  new  line  of  battle,  and  send  for- 
ward   the    necessary    reinforcements.       The 
struggle  that  took  place  was  bitter  and  deter- 
mined, for  both  parties   were  in   a   state   of 
military   effervescence.     The  Northern   army 
especially  was  drunk  with   enthusiasm,  and 
anticipated  an  easy  victory  over  the  poorly- 
equipped  "  rebels."     Many  Congressmen  and 
citizens,  including   elegant  ladies,  had  come 
from  Washington  to  participate  in  the  celebra- 


MANASSAS.  129 

tion  of  the  grand  victory  which  they  had  no 
doubt  would  be  achieved.  They  had  sent  to 
Centerville  all  kinds  of  delicacies,  fine  wines 
and  tlie  like,  with  which  they  expected  to  have 
a  splendid  collation  as  soon  as  the  battle  should 
be  ended.  We  may  here  mentis  a  fact,  to 
which  Northern  historians  have  never  given 
much  prominence,  if  they  have  not  deliberately 
suppressed  it :  Several  wagons  were  loaded 
with  hand-cuffs,  with  which  to  manacle  the 
captured  "  rebels  "  and  lead  them  along  the 
streets  of  Washington  in  triumph.  The 
Federals  were,  therefore,  much  enraged  when 
they  found  their  march  checked  by  this  hand- 
fnll  of  "rebels" — a  single  regiment  from  South 
Carolina  and  a  company  from  Wheat's  battal- 
lion.  It  could  not  be  expected  that  Evans 
could  hold  his  position  for  any  great  length  of 
time  against  such  terrible  odds.  He  was 
gradually  driven  back.  But  the  gallant  Bee 
soon  came  up.  His  arrival  was  most  timely, 
for  the  whole  Southern  line  was  now  giving 
way,  reeling,  staggering  under  the  hot,  concen- 
trated hre  of  McDowell's  army.  Bee  rapidly 
advanced  with  four  regiments,  and  the  battle 
was,  at  once,  renewed  with  additional  fury. 
For  an  hour,  this  brigade,  with  the  few  bleed- 


130  DEEP   WATERS. 

ing  companies  of  Evans,  decimated  by  their 
heroic  effort  to  check  the  advance  of  a  whole 
army,  stood  their  ground,  and  fought  Avith  a 
desperation  born  of  pride  and  patriotism.  It 
seems  that  Beauregard  had  made  no  prepa- 
rations for  an  attack  at  this  point. 

Twelve  o'clock  arrived,  and  found  the  little 
army  of  Bee  and  Evans  in  a  most  critical  con- 
dition. It  was  slowly  falling  back.  There 
would  soon  have  been  a  panic,  had  not  Bee 
discovered  the  famous  brigade  of  the  immortal 
"Stonewall"  Jackson,  coming  to  his  relief. 
"  General,"  groaned  Bee,  as  he  galloped  back, 
begrimed  with  the  smoke  and  dust  of  battle, 
"they  are  beating  us  back."  "Sir,  we  will 
give  them  the  bayonet,"  calmly  and  curtly 
replied  the  Man  of  Iron.  Bee  imniediately 
rushed  back  to  his  disordered  and  dishearten- 
ed soldiers,  and  pointing  with  his  sword,  cried 
out :  "  Look  at  Jackson,  men,  standing  like  a 
stone  loaJiy  And  thus  on  that  bloody  field, 
amid  the  roar  of  battle  and  the  groans  of  the 
d^dng,  the  hero  was  christened  with  a  name 
which  has  superseded  that  given  by  his 
parents. 

Again    the   battle  was   renewed.     Jackson 
held  his  position  for  an  hour,  which  enabled 


MANASSAS.  131 

Beauregard  to  hurry  forward  troops  from  the 
lower  fords  of  Ball  Rim.  When  Beauregard 
and  Johnson  airived  on  the  field  about  twelve 
o'clock,  the  day  was  going  against  the  Confed- 
erates. But  fortunately,  while  the  "rebels" 
were  wavering,  and  would  in  a  short  time 
have  been  utterlj^  defeated,  there  was  an  in- 
explicable lull  in  the  fight.  The  Federals  had 
halted.  At  that  time  they  were  novices  in  the 
art  of  war,  and  did  not  appreciate  the  import- 
ance of  those  critical  junctures  when  the 
fortunes  of  both  parties  are  trembling  in  the 
balance,  or  when  nothing  is  needed  but  a 
vigorous  movement  to  secure  a  decided  victor}^ 
But  in  half  an  hour,  Beauregard  had  re- 
established his  lines,  and  the  contest  was 
again  renewed.  Fresh  troops  were  arriving  on 
both  sides. 

From  one  till  after  three  o'clock,  the  histori- 
an is  unable  to  follow  the  cloud  of  this  battle. 
This  period  was  Avhat  an  elegant  writer  calls 
the  quid,  obscnrum  of  battle.  The  war-cloud 
was  broken  up,  and  floated  about  in  uncer- 
tainty. Victory,  trembling  in  doubt,  hovered 
over  one  party  and  then  the  other.  IS'obody 
can  tell  what  was  done.  Tactics  had  become 
useless.     Each  individual  soldier  was  his  own 


132  DEEP   WATERS. 

commander.  It  was  a  wild  sozzle — an  enor- 
mous street  melee.  Batteries  were  charged 
and  captured,  and  in  a  moment  afterwards, 
re-captured.  There  was  no  base  anywhere  ; 
everythino:  was  shifting.  Volumes  of  smoke 
rolled  up  ;  cannon  roared ;  muslvets  rattled  ; 
shouts  and  groans — all  mingled  together  in 
one  horrid  bedlam  of  confusion.  For  two 
hours  there  was  this  irregular  contest,  in  which 
men  fought  more  as  individuals  than  as 
companies. 

Three  o'clock  came.  The  fortunes  of  the 
Confederates  were  extremely  dark.  They  had 
lost  some  of  their  best  and  bravest  officers. 
Hampton  was  sliot  while  leading  on  his  men 
in  desperation.  The  noble  Bee,  who  had 
baptized  Jackson  with  blood,  fell  mortally 
wounded  at  the  head  of  the  Alabamians  in  the 
thickest  of  the  fray,  grasping  his  sword  and 
urging  on  his  men  with  his  dying  breath.  The 
magnanimous  Barton,  while  rallying  the 
seventh  Georgia,  was  shot  through  tlie  head, 
and  as  he  fell,  exclaimed  :  ''  They  have  killed 
me,  but  never  give  up  the  field,"  and  his  pure, 
brave  spirit  winged  its  flight  away  from  this 
awful  scene  of  carnage,  confusion  and  death. 
Fisher,  of  the  "  old  North  State,"  was  killed; 


MANASSAS.  133 

Colonels  Gartrell  and  Falkner  were  hors  de 
combat.  Many  officers  of  lower  grade,  whose 
names  will  never  be  known,  lay  stretched 
upon  the  ground,  never  to  rise  again. 

But  the  supreme  moment  had  come.  Both 
parties  now  prepared  for  the  final  blow.  It 
was  four  o'clock,  and  the  evening  was  hot  and 
sultry.  The  Federal  army  was  drawn  up  in 
the  form  of  a  crescent.  They  begin  to  ad- 
vance. They  expect,  it  seems,  to  flank  the 
left  wing  of  the  Confederate  army.  What 
was  their  amazement  to  find  themselves  sud- 
denly confronted  and  flanked  on  their  right 
wing  by  1700  fresh  troops.  It  was  the  army 
of  Kirby  Smith,  for  which  Johnson  had  been 
so  anxiously  looking  for  several  hours.  In- 
deed, he  had  gone  back  to  hasten  forward 
these  troops,  who  came  on  the  railroad ;  but 
as  there  was  not  a  moment  to  lose,  the  cars 
were  stopped,  and  the  troops  were  hastily 
hurried  from  the  the  train  in  the  forest.  This 
arrival  added  another  feature  to  Bull  Run 
that  made  up  its  similarity  to  the  battle  of 
Waterloo  in  1815.  If  the  reader  will  take  the 
trouble  to  compare  these  two  battles,  he  will 
discover  that  there  was  a  striking  resemblance 
between  them,  in  several  respects.      Hugo's 


134  DEEP   WATEES. 

letter  A,  with  some  slight  modifications,  will 
apply  to  Bull  Run.  The  whole  tight  of  Water- 
loo was  for  the  plateau  of  Mont  St.  Jean  :  the 
whole  fight  of  Bull  Run  was  for  a  plateau, 
where  the  battle  began  and  ended.  In  the 
afternoon,  there  was  the  same  irregular  con- 
test. Toward  nightfall  Blucher  burst  upon 
the  field  like  a  terrible  avalanche,  before 
which  the  dismayed  French  fled  in  terror. 
About  four  o'clock  in  the  evening  of  that  Sab- 
bath day,  just  as  Beauregard  gave  the  order 
to  his  entire  line  to  advance,  Kirby  Smith,  like 
Blucher,  suddenly  emerged  from  the  woods, 
and  burst  like  a  thunder-clap  upon  the  scene. 
This,  at  once,  changed  the  whole  aspect  of 
the  fight.  The  disheartened  Federals  gave 
way  on  the  right,  and  fled  before  the  intrepid 
soldiers  of  Kirby  Smith.  At  the  same  time, 
the  entire  "rebel"  army  charged  with  reviving 
hopes  and  renewed  energy.  The  Federals  dis- 
appeared like  phantoms  from  the  gory  scene, 
leaving  clouds  of  smoke,  abandoned  wagons, 
wounded  and  dead  men,  to  mark  the  s]3ot 
where  they  had  so  lately  fought  with  a  cour- 
age and  desperation  worthy  of  their  blood. 
Kirby  Smith  had  saved  the  day. 

Soon  the  roar  of  battle  ceased,  and  the  "rebel 


MANASSAS.  135 

yell"  announced  to  those  in  the  distance  that 
thelirst  imjDortant  battle  of  the  war  had  termi- 
nated in  favor  of  the  '•  Great  Rebellion."  The 
"  Grand  Army,"  which  had,  that  Sabbath 
morning,  marched  out  with  so  firm  a  step, 
rolled  back  upon  Washington  in  broken  frag- 
ments. It  may  appear  a  strange  fact  in  his- 
tory, but  that  one  battle  terminated  the  whole 
campaign  of  the  year  1861. 

The  enemy  has  gone,  and  the  storm  of  bat- 
tle has  subsided.  We  can  now  quietly  walk 
over  the  terrible  field,  and  examine  its  gory 
wake.  In  the  final  charge,  the  second  Missis- 
sijDpi,  with  the  exception  of  one  regiment,  Avas 
on  the  extreme  left  wing  of  the  Confederate 
army.  Just  at  the  time  that  Kirby  Smith's 
bayonet  flashed  like  lightning  into  the  cloud 
of  battle,  a  young  officer  was  seen  to  wave  his 
sword,  and  fall  to  the  earth  with  a  groan.  It 
was  Ernest  Edgefield. 


-^-^hnjl/h^l/inn^^ 


CHAPTER  yiL 


AFTER  THE  BATTLE. 


Sometimes  in  battle  a  soldier  suddenly 
iinds  himself  prostrate'd  to  the  earth.  He 
knows  not  what  has  hapj)ened.  A  dizziness 
comes  over  him.  Then  he  glances  down  at 
his  limhs,  and  discovers  that  he  is  bleeding. 
He  knows  he  is  wounded,  but  he  cannot  tell 
to  what  extent.  It  may  be  a  fearful  shot  which 
will  end  his  mortal  existence  the  next  moment, 
or  it  may  be  only  a  severe  shock  that  has 
touched  no  vital  part.  When  Ernest  fell,  it 
was  a  moment  before  he  could  clearly  com- 
prehend what  had  occurred.  One  of  his  com- 
pany ran  to  him,  and  asked : 

"  Are  you  much  hurt  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  fear  I  have  received  a  long  fur- 
lough." 

The  soldier  tore  off  some  of  his  clothing, 
and,  after  a  brief  examination,  said: 

"  It  is  a  severe  wound,  Captain,  but  I  don't 
think  it  is  fatal.     Shall  I  stay  with  you  ?  " 
136 


AFTEE   THE   BATTLE.  137 

"  No,  no,  go  on  with  the  boys.  Never  mind 
me.  We  have  whipped  them,  thank  God,  and 
I  can  die,  if  it  is  His  will,  with  a  clear  con- 
science.    Go  on  with  the  boys." 

The  soldier  gathered  up  his  military  imple- 
ments, and  j)nshed  on  with  his  comrades  in 
pursuit  of  the  flying  foe,  and  Ernest  was  left 
alone  with  the  wounded,  dead  and  dying. 
Presently  he  fell  into  a  train  of  thought  as 
follows  : 

"  Perhaps  this  is  another  warning.  I  have 
totally  disregarded  what  Mr.  Hills  ton  says  is 
my  call  to  the  ministry.  Shall  I  now  promise 
God,  as  I  lie  here,  that  I  will  yield  to  the  call, 
if  He  will  spare  my  life  ?  No  ;  for  I  cannot 
believe  that  I  am  called  of  God.  Why  does 
not  God  give  me  some  reliable  evidence,  if 
He  really  wants  riie  to  be  a  minister  ?  I  shall 
wait  a  while  yet.  But  suppose  I  die?"  He 
could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  preach. 

At  six  o'clock,  an  elderly  gentleman,  with 
an  honest,  open,  benevolent  countenance  came 
to  the  spot  where  Ernest  was  lying.  He  was 
the  first  wounded  soldier  the  gentleman 
reached. 

"  What  is  your  condition,  my  young 
friend? "  he  asked  in  a  kindly  voice. 


188  DEEP    WATERS. 

"  I  am  wounded  here  in  the  side,"  said 
Ernest. 

"  Could  you  travel  in  a  bugg}^  a  few  miles  ? " 

"  I  think  I  could,  sir." 

"  Then,  if  you  can,  I  would  be  pleased  to 
take  you  to  my  house,  where  you  can  have 
proper  attention  and  good  nursing.  Will  you 
go  ?    I  will  assist  you  into  the  buggy." 

"  Yes,  sir :  I  will  accept  your  kind  offer. 
How  far  do  you  have  to  go  ?  " 

"  About  six  miles  ;  but  it  is  a  good  road, 
and  we  can  make  the  drive  in  an  hour.  I 
could  hear  the  lighting  all  da}^  from  my  house. 
At  noon,  during  the  lull,  I  supposed  the  battle 
might  be  over,  and  I  started  to  the  scene  of 
action.  But  when  I  had  driven  three  miles,  I 
discovered  that  the  fight  was  renewed  with 
redoubled  fury.  When  it  ended,  I  learned 
from  a  courier  how  the  day  had  gone,  and  I 
came  on  to  do  what  I  could  for  our  wounded. 
It  will  afford  me  pleasure  to  take  care  of  you 
till  you  are  again  ready  for  duty  ?" 

"  I  shall  be  under  lasting  obligations,  sir," 
replied  Ernest. 

At  once,  Ernest  was  assisted  into  thebugg}^, 
and  driven  along  at  a  slow  pace  till  they 
reached  the  gentleman's   residence   at   eight 


AFTEE   THE   BATTLE.  139 

o'clock  in  the  evening.  This  gentleman  was 
a  Presbyterian  minister,  by  name  Dr.  Arling- 
ton. His  family  consisted  of  a  wife  and  three 
daughters,  the  elder  of  whom  was  about 
twenty  years  of  age — an  intelligent,  well  edu- 
cated young  lady.  She  had  completed  !ier 
-education  the  previous  year  at  one  of  the  best 
female  colleges  of  Virginia.  We  cannot  say 
that  she  was  perfectly  beautiful,  for,  though 
her  features  seemed  faultless  when  contem- 
plated singly,  yet  the  grouping  was  somehow 
a  little  defective.  No  one  could  tell  what  was 
lacking,  but  tliere  was  something.  But  the 
perfection  of  her  features  enabled  her  to  bear 
a  most  rigid  inspection,  and  she  improved 
greatly  on  acquaintance.  She  had  a  decidedly 
classical  cast  of  countenance.  In  conversation 
her  face  beamed  with  intelligence  and  sym- 
pathy, which  made  her  ajDpear  handsome  and 
lovely.  She  belonged,  in  a  word,  to  that  class, 
who  attract  more  by  their  moral  excellencies 
than  their  physical  graces.  Mildred  Arring- 
ton,  however,  possessed  a  symmetrical  figure, 
and  her  every  movement  betrayed  elegance  o 
manners  and  refinement  of  taste  and  intellect- 
ual culture.  All  who  were  intimately  ac- 
quainted with  her,  thought  her  beautiful. 


140  DEEP   WATERS. 

With  this  kind  family  Ernest  remained  for 
many  days,  while  his  wound  was  slowly  heal- 
ing. Dr.  Arrington  had  an  excellent  library, 
in  which  he  and  his  family  spent  much  of  their 
time.  They  were  an  intellectual  family. 
Ernest  here  spent  some  of  the  happiest  hours 
of  his  life,  in  the  company  of  the  three  girls, 
especially  Mildred.  The  Doctor  was  also  a 
congenial  companion,  and  loved  to  talk.  He 
was  an  earnest  Christian,  who  believed, 
though,  in  getting  as  much  legitimate  happi- 
ness out  of  this  mortal  life  as  possible.  There 
was  none  of  the  Pharisee  in  his  composition. 
He  received  the  gospel  with  the  simple  faith 
of  a  child,  and  so  preached  it.  He  believed 
in  providing  innocent  amusements  for  his 
family.  The  consequence  was,  there  was  no 
nicer  place  to  visit  and  no  happier  home  in  all 
the  country  than  Dr.  Arrington's.  His  resi- 
dence was  full  of  sunshine,  and  no  discordant 
sound  was  ever  heard  beneath  that  roof. 

It  will  not  appear  wonderful,  then,  that  the 
days  passed  rapidly  away  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  Ernest,  who  felt  loth  to  put  an  end  to 
the  period  of  his  convalescence.  But  at  last 
he  began  to  painfully  realize  that  he  could  not 
remain  much  longer,  with  propriety,  beneath 


AFTER  THE  BATTLE.  141 

this  hospitable  roof.  When  he  thought  of 
leaving  Mildred  he  discovered  that  it  tilled 
him  with  the  keenest  pain.  But  why  should 
it?  If  he  really  loved  her,  why  not  propose, 
at  once,  and  bind  her  to  him  by  a  tie  which 
nothing  but  death  could  sever  ?  He  must  go 
back  to  the  army  in  a  few  days,  and  the 
probability  was,  he  could  never  see  her  again. 

It  was  hardly  reasonable  to  suppose  that 
he  could  go  through  many  such  scenes  as 
those  of  Bull  Run,  and  escape  with  his  life 
But  he  felt  that  he  could  not  bid  farewell  to 
this  happy  family  without  the  prospect  of  a 
closer  relationship  with  them  in  the  future. 
He  believed  that  he  had  endeared  himself  to 
them;  but  one  thing  was  certain,  they  had  so 
wound  themselves  around  his  heart  that  the 
thought  of  never  seeing  them  again  was  in- 
tolerable. 

One  day  about  a  week  before  his  departure, 
he  was  walking  in  the  lawn  in  company  with 
Mildred.  Presently  Ernest  fell  into  a  reverie 
that  made  his  face  appear  more  solemn  than 
usual.  He  was  aroused  by  a  soft  voice  at  his 
side  : 

*'  You  appear  to  be  in  a  profound  study." 

"  So  I  was,"  replied  Ernest,  heaving  a  deep 
sigh. 


142  DEEP   WATEES. 

"It  was  sometMng  unpleasant,  was  it  not?" 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ? " 

"I  noticed  your  countenance,"  answered 
Mildred,  "just  now,  which  was  expressive  of 
pain." 

"  You  are  a  good  physiognomist,"  replied 
Ernest.  "I  was  just  thinking  that  in  a  few 
days  more  I  must  return  to  my  command." 

"And  is  it  so  painful  to  light  for  your 
country?"  quickly  asked  Mildred. 

"  You  misunderstand  me,"  said  Ernest.  "  It 
is  no  reluctance  to  serve  my  country  :  for  God 
knows  that  I  am  willing  to  die  for  the  inde- 
pendence of  the  Confederate  States,  if  neces- 
sary. But  there  are  things  to  me  more  hitter 
than  death  itself." 

"  You  talk  in  riddles,  Captain." 

"  Yes ;  because  I  was  talking  to  myself 
partly.  It  is  due  to  you  that  I  should  explain 
myself."  After  a  pause,  he  continued:  "I 
have  had  few  associates  in  my  life.  My  father 
and  mother  left  me  a  lonely  orphan  when  I 
was  a  small  boy.  From  various  causes,  which 
I  need  not  weary  you  by  relating,  my  life  has 
not  been  very  happy.  I  have  found  very  few 
congenial  companions  among  either  sex.  I 
have  now  prepared  3^our  mind  for  the  recep- 


AFTER   THE   BATTLE.  143 

tion  of  the  fact,  that  the  time  spent  beneath 
your  father's  roof,  is  the  hap23iest  portion  of 
my  existence.  I  was  thinking  just  now,  that 
I  must  soon  leave,  and  the  probability  is,  I 
shall  never  again  see  you  and  the  family  till 
we  shall  all  meet  in  the  eternal  world." 

"  Why  should  you  take  such  a  gloomy  view. 
Captain  ? "  asked  Mildred,  slightly  coloring. 
"  We  destroy  our  happiness  by  anticipating 
misfortunes  that  may  never  befall  us.  You 
may  go  through  the  war,  and  come  out  with 
honors  budding  thick  upon  your  brow.  Why 
not  look  forward  to  promotion  ?  Who  knows," 
she  continued,  trying  to  smile,  "but  that  you 
may  be  a  General? " 

"  No ;  I  have  no  ambition  in  that  way.  I 
do  not  want  any  greater  responsibility  than 
the  command  of  a  single  company  involves." 

There  was  a  pause,  which  was  broken  by 
Mildred  suddenly  saying : 

"What  foolish  thoughts  will  sometimes 
flash  into  our  minds." 

"  What  mean  you?"  asked  Ernest. 

"I  was  just  thinking  what  an  astounding 
victory  you  could  gain,  if  you  had  control  of 
that  one  force,  from  which  all  the  forces  of 
nature,  I  think,  are  derived." 


144  DEEP   WATEES. 

» 

This  idea  of  Mildred's  was  fully  elaborated 
by  Lord  Lytton,  some  few  years  afterwards, 
and  tlie  force  was  called  vrill.  But  as  we  are 
not  writing  a  treatise  on  science,  we  will  pro- 
ceed with  our  story. 

"  O,"  she  continued  gaily,  "  do  you  not  wish 
you  had  something  of  that  sort  ?  " 

"  I  have  had  such  foolish  thoughts  a  thou- 
sand times,"  replied  Ernest,  breaking  into  a 
laugh,  ''but  I  did  not  know  that  anybody  else 
had  such  absurd  fancies.  I  found  myself 
wishing  for  miraculous  powers  on  the  battle 
field  of  Bull  Run  a  short  time  since.  When 
our  soldiers  were  about  to  retreat  in  a  wild 
panic  in  the  evening,  I  almost  cried  aloud  for 
a  cyclone  to  hurl  upon  those  dark  columns. 
How  quickly  I  thought  I  would  annihilate 
them.     Was  it  not  preposterous  ?  " 

And  they  both  laughed. 

"I  should  be  ashamed,"  said  Mildred,  "to 
let  any  one  know  what  wild  fancies  pass 
through  this  dwarfish  brain  of  mine.  The 
truth  is,  I  live  in  an  ideal  world.  I  often  find 
myself  wishing  that  I  could  visit  some  '  New 
Utopia.' " 

"  What  a  coincidence,"  said  Ernest,  looking 
at  the  young  lady  in  surprise. 


AFTER   THE   BATTLE.  145 

''What  is?"  she  asked. 

"  That  you  and  I  should  be  dreaming  about 
the  same  absurdities." 

"  Well,  Idonotknov\',"  replied  Mildred.  "I 
have  never  cared  to  mention  my  silly  reveries 
to  any  one.  Indeed,  it  is  the  first  time  in  my 
life  that  I  have  alluded  to  them." 

"  May  you  nob  be  wrong  to  call  them  '  silly'  ? 
Some  of  the  happiest  moments  of  my  life  have 
been  spent  in  this  way.  I  frequently  discover 
myself  traveling  about  in  some  of  Mun 
chausen's  wonderful  vehicles,  and  I  become  so 
absorbed  that  my  imaginings  appear  as 
realities." 

^'I,  too,  do  the  same  thing,"  said  Mildred, 
turning  her  blue  eyes  upon  him  in  surprise. 

"Miss  Mildred,"  spoke  up  Ernest  after  a  brief 
pause,  "our  minds  seem  to  have  been  con- 
structed in  the  same  molds.  Hen ceforth  I  shall 
be  forever  meeting  you  in  my  psychological 
peregrinations.  I  have  no  doubt  that  I  shall 
often  rove  back  to  this  beautiful  yard  and 
these  grand  oaks,  when  lam  sitting  around  the 
bivouac  fire  or  meditating  in  my  tent." 

Mildred  began  to  look  serious,  and  to  turn 
her  face  in  order  to  conceal  the  treacherous 
blushes  which,  she  felt,  must  be  mantling  her 
cheeks. 


146  DEEP   WATEES. 

"  I  am  glad  to  think,"  she  answered  in  a  low, 
hesitating  tone,  "  that  your  imprisonment  here 
has  been  rendered  tolerable." 

"Tolerable!"  cried  Ernest.  "I  wish  such 
imprisonment  could  last  forever !  " 

"  What !"  exclaimed  Mildred,  feigning  not  to 
understand,  "  would  you  be  willing  to  be 
cooped  up  while  your  comrades  are  fighting 
the  battles  of  liberty  ?  Sometimes  I  wish  I 
could  go  myself,  and  that  I  were  an  A^mazon 
stout  enough  to  shoulder  a  cannon.  The  poor 
South  needs  every  soldier  she  can  get.  You 
must,  therefore,  dismiss  your  Utopian  dreams 
and  enter  into  gory  and  awful  realities." 

"  If  I  know  myself,"  said  Ernest,  "I  do  not 
shrink  from  those  realities.  But  I  need  some- 
thing to  inflame  my  zeal." 

"What  do  you  need?"  she  asked,  wishing 
after  the  inquiry  had  been  made,  that  she  had 
propounded  some  other  question. 

"  I  have  told  you,"  he  replied,  "  that  I  have 
no  intimate  friends.  My  affections  are  roving 
around  like  the  '  wondering  Jew,'  seeking  some 
object  upon  which  to  concentrate.  The  object 
that  comes  within  their  focus  will  find  no 
reason  to  complain  of  their  lack  of  intensity. 
Do  you  understand  me  ?  " 


AFTER   THE   BATTLE.  147 

'•I  cannot  say  that  I  do,"  answered  Mildred, 
"but  I  should  think  that  the  goddess  of 
Liberty  would  be  sufficient  to  elicit  all  the 
better  feelings  and  aspirations  of  your  soul." 

"The  goddess  of  Liberty  may  call  forth  a 
certain  class  of  affections,  but  there  is  another 
group  which  requires  a  more  substantial 
being."  Mildred  said  nothing,  but  looked 
thoughtful.  She  understood  what  Ernest 
meant,  yet  he  had  spoken  so  vaguely  that  she 
was  reminded  of  the  amiable  Pickwick  and 
the  widow  Bardell,  which  association  of  ideas 
caused  her  to  laugh  out-right.  Ernest  gazed 
at  her  in  amazement  and  pain. 

"What  is  it  that  amuses  you  so?"  he  asked 
in  a  tone  indicative  of  displeasure. 

"Please  excuse  me,  Captain,"  she  said 
deprecatingiy.  ''I  was  not,  I  assure  you, 
laughing  at  anything  you  said.  It  was  only  a 
foolish  and  rediculous  thought  that  suddenly 
came  into  my  mind.  I  beg  your  pardon,"  she 
said  earnestly. 

"  G-ranted,"  he  replied,  "  if  you  will  only  be 
serious  for  a  moment." 

."Certainly,  I  will." 

"  I  will  speak  plainly  so  that  you  cannot 
misunderstand  me.     The  truth  is,  Hove  you." 


148  DJUEP  WATERS. 

"  O,  Captain,"  she  exclaimed  with  solemn 
earnestness,  "what  a  time  for  such  a  declara- 
tion!" 

"Why?"  asked  Ernest. 

"  Why,  we  are  on  the  threshold  of  a  terrible 
war  which  will  end,  we  know  not  when." 

"  That  is  the  very  reason  I  want  a  love  to 
sustain  me  under  the  trials  which  await  me. 
My  nature  demands  love.  I  am  gloomy  and 
wretched  without  it." 

"How  have  you  managed  this  long.  Cap- 
tain ?" 

"  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it."  And  he  gave 
her  a  full  account  of  all  the  circumstances  of 
his  past  life,  after  which  Mildred  with  a 
cunning  smile,  said: 

"It  seems,  then,  I  am  seco'nd  choice." 

"You  are  mistaken.  I  did  not  know  my 
own  heart  then.  I  never  had  for  her  the  deep, 
ineffable  affection  I  have  for  you.  After  this 
honest  explanation  must  I  leave  you  without 
hope?  If  I  do,  it  matters  little  to  me  what 
shall  become  of  me.  I  shall  consider  that  ball 
from  the  enemy's  gun  a  mercy  that  shall  put 
an  end  to  my  misery.  But  with  your  love,  I 
shall  be  the  happiest  soldier  in  the  army.  I 
shall  have  an  object  for  which  to  live.  Can 
you,  will  you  give  me  any  hope  ?" 


AFTER   THE   BATTLE.  149 

Ernest  perceived  that  Mildred  was  violently 
agitated,  and  he  felt  encouraged. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  urged,  "  that  you  v^ill  be 
mine,  when  this  cruel  war  is  over,  if  I  come  out 
the  fiery  crucible  alive." 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  given  me  time  to  reflect 
about  the  matter,"  she  said  at  last.  ''I  will 
candidly  say  this  :  if  you  are  alive  and  I  am, 
when  the  war  ends,  and  the  feelings  of  neither 
undergo  any  change,  it  shall  be  as  you  wish. 
Is  that  sufficient  ?" 

So  these  two  young  people,  with  that  pure 
aff"ection,  glowing  in  their  hearts,  which  is 
sanctioned  by  the  Allwise  God,  standing  under 
the  broad- spreading  oaks,  agreed  to  enter  into 
the  sacred  relation  which  constitutes  the  very 
foundation  of  human  society.  Why  should 
older  persons,  who  have  lost  the  ardor,  aspira- 
tions and  hopes  of  youth,  sneer  at  what  they 
are  pleased  to  call "  sickly  love  stories  ?  "  God 
implanted  these  sacred  aff'ections  in  the  human 
heart  to  bind  society  together,  and  it  is  these 
which  make  man  a  gregarious  animal.  Is  that 
pure  love  which  leads  to  the  marriage  relation 
only  evidence  of  a  kind  of  folly  that  deserves 
to  be  ridiculed  ?  Why  do  prudish,  righteous- 
over-much  people,  calling  themselves  critics, 


150  DEEP   WATEKS. 

cry  out  against  stories  whicli  illustrate  social 
realities,  and  wliich  seek  to  inspire  tlie  youth 
of  our  country  with  proper  respect  and 
reverence  for  a  heaven-sanctioned  institution  ? 
Why  is  it  that  extremely  pious  people  profess 
such  an  aversion  to  "  love  scenes  " — scenes  that 
are  every  day  realities  in  the  ranks  of  the 
purest  and  most  refined  society  ?  Such  scenes 
as  we  have  described,  call  them  "love-sick," 
who  will,  actually  transpired  during  the  war, 
and  many  a  soldier  found  a  God-sent  wife  in 
the  hospitals.  These  love  affairs  mingle  with 
the  gravest  concerns  of  human  life.  Why, 
then,  omit  them  from  the  pages  of  a  story 
which  is  intended  to  be  a  true  picture  'i  There 
is  nothing  startling  or  sensational  in  them. 
Indeed,  they  are  so  old,  common  and  custo- 
mary that  they  derive  any  interest  tliey  may 
possess  from  new  combinations  of  circum- 
stances. Eliminate  these  circumstances, 
and  nothing  is  left  but  an  occurrence  that 
transpires  every  hour  of  the  day.  We  may 
here  say  that  there  is  nothing  in  this  volume 
that  should  prevent  it  from  occupying  a  place 
on  the  shelves  of  any  Sabbath-school  library. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 


HARD  TRUTHS. 


During  the  time  that  Ernest  was  confined  in 
the  house  of  Dr.  Arrington,  he  had  had  sev- 
eral discussions  with  that  gentleman,  of 
doctrines  which  are  regarded  by  the  world  as 
distinctive  dogmas  of  tlie  Presbyterian  Cliurch. 
They  were  conducted  on  both  sides  with  the 
utmost  calmness,  politeness  and  good-will.  It 
is  a  fact  that  generally  men  cannot  engage  in 
discussions  of  religious  questions  with  moder- 
ation. They  are  often  more  acrimonious 
than  politicians.  But  the  Doctor  was  natur- 
ally calm  and  tranquil,  and  Ernest  found  that 
his  first  belief  was  beginning  to  totter  on  its 
foundation.  Mildred,  too,  believed  this  "  hor- 
rid doctrine  of  predestination,"  which,  in  the 
mind  of  Ernest,  had  a  tendency  to  strip  it  of 
its  forbidding  aspects.  But  still  he  was  not 
perfectly  satisfied.  The  discussions  which  he 
had  with  Dr.  Arrington,  were,  on  his  part, 
designed  more  to  elicit  information  and  proof 

161 


152  DEEP  WATEES. 

than  sustain  Ms  own  assumed  position ;  in 
different  language,  Ernest  took  the  "  wrong 
side "  in  order  that  the  Doctor  might  over- 
turn it. 

Two  or  three  days  before  Ernest  was  to 
start  to  his  command,  he  was  sitting  in  the 
Doctor's  study  looking  over  the  Westminster 
Confession  of  Faith.  The  Doctor,  glancing 
up  presently,  and  seeing  how  the  young  man 
was  employed,  said  pleasantly  : 

"  You  have  tackled  what  the  world  calls  a 
'  hard  book,'  Captain." 

"  The  world,  in  my  opinion,"  answered 
Ernest,  with  a  smile,  "  is  not  much  to  blame 
for  taking  that  view  of  it." 

"  No  doubt,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  the  doctrines 
which  it  proclaims  are  '  hard  to  be  understood,' 
as  Paul  himself  declared." 

"  You  will  have  it  that  Paul  was  speaking 
of  predestination,  will  you,  Doctor  ?  " 

"He  certainly  must  have  been.  Of  what 
else  could  he  have  been  speaking  ?  If  he  was 
discussing  free  agency,  I  am  sure  there  is  no 
difficulty  in  that.  What  is  there  in  free 
agency  to  make  Paul  say, '  The  Lord  will  have 
mercy  on  whom  He  will  have  mercy  '  ?  What 
is  there  in  free  agency  to  make  Peter  open  his 


IIARB  TKtTTfiS.  ISS 

eyes  and  wonder,  and  declare  that  it  was  '  hard 
to  be  understood?'  What  is  there  in  free 
agency  that  people  could  'wrest  to  their  own 
destruction  ? '  " 

'•  What  is  there  in  predestination  that 
people  can  wrest  to  their  destruction?"  asked 
Ernest. 

"  Why  just  this,"  replied  the  Doctor  :  "  Men 
said,  and  say  it  t6  this  day,  'Well,  if  my 
destiny  is  fixed,  I  shall  make  no  effort  to  be 
saved,  for  I  cannot  change  my  destiny;  I 
intend  to  take  my  fill  of  sin.'  That  is  the  way 
they  wrest  it  to  their  destruction.  Any  one 
who  really  believes  the  doctrine  of  predestina- 
tion never  talks  in  that  way.  On  the  contrary, 
if  he  believes  that  he  is  one  of  the  elect,  he 
will  be  the  more  earnest  and  diligent  in 
making  that  election  sure." 

"  But,"  said  Ernest,  "  what  is  the  use  of  his 
diligence,  if  he  is  one  of  the  elect  ?  He  will  be 
saved  anyhow." 

''  That  is  the  way  people  talked  in  Paul's 
day,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "  but  I  will  answer 
you.  Do  you  not  remember  that  the  Lord 
promised  Gideon  he  should  gain  the  victory 
with  his  three  hundred  men  ?  Why  did  not 
Gideon  say, '  if  that  is  so,  I  shall  do  nothing  ; 


154  DEEP   WATEES. 

I  shall  employ  no  strategy,  but  I  shall  wait 
for  the  Lord  to  conquer  His  enemies.'  When 
God  told  Paul,  as  he  was  tossed  in  a  frail  ves- 
sel on  the  storm-lashed  sea,  that  he  and  all  on 
board  should  certainly  be  saved,  why  did  not 
the  apostle  tell  the  sailors  to  sit  down  quietly, 
and  they  should  all  reach  the  land  in  safety  ? 
Why,  the  knowledge  that  they  should  be 
saved  inspired  the  crew  with  hope,  and 
courage  to  renewed  efforts  to  work  out  their 
salvation.  This  doctrine  arouses  the  beliver's 
energies,  instead  of  begetting  a  spirit  of  indo- 
lence and  rebellion." 

While  the  Doctor  was  speaking,  Ernest  was 
slowly  turning  the  pages  of  the  Confession  of 
Faith,  as  if  looking  for  some  particular  pas- 
sage, and  at  the  same  time  as  if  paying  strict 
attention  to  what  was  said.  Just  as  the 
preacher  closed  his  last  remark,  Ernest  came 
to  the  third  chapter  and  said : 

"  What  does  this  mean,  Doctor  ? " 

''What  is  it?" 

" '  God  from  all  eternity  did,  by  the  most 
wise  and  holy  counsel  of  His  will  freely  and 
unchangeably  ordain  whatsoever  comes  to 
pass.'" 

"Now,"  continued  Ernest  quickly  closing 


HARD   TRUTHS.  155 

the  book  with  his  thumb  between  the  leaves, 
''  there  it  is — '  God  ordains  whatsoever  comes 
to  pass.'  It  seems  there  is  no  exception, 
murder,  sin,  robberies  and  all.  Whatever  I 
do,  then,  good  or  bad,  God  ordained  it.  How 
am  I  responsible?  If  that  clause  does  not 
destroy  man's  free  agency,  I  cannot  under- 
stand the  meaning  of  words.  Surely,  Doctor, 
you  do  not  endorse  this  book  ?  You  do  not 
believe  that^  God  is  the  author  of  sin  ? 

The  Doctor  looked  at  Ernest  in  astonish- 
ment, smiled,  and  said: 

"Are  you  certain  it  says  just  exactly 
that?" 

"  If  I  can  read,  it  says  that." 

"  You  are  like  a  great  many  other  people," 
said  the  Doctor,  "who  find  fault  with  the 
Confession,  and  jump  to  conclusions,  without 
really  knowing  what  it  does  say.  Now,  if 
you  please,  open  the  book,  and  read  on — read 
it  all — that  is  the  whole  paragraph  ;  for  you 
paused  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence." 

Ernest  read: 

"God  from  all  eternity  did,  by  the  most  wise 
and  holy  counsel  of  His  own  will,  freely  and 
unchangeably  ordain  whatsoever  comes  to 
pass ;  yet   so   as  thereby  neither  is  God  the 


156  DEEP  WATEES. 

author  of  sin ;  nor  is  violence  offered  to  the 
will  of  the  creatures,  nor  is  the  liberty  or  con- 
tingency of  second  causes  taken  away,  but 
rather  established." 

"  Now,  that  makes  a  considerable  difference, 
does  it  not  ? "  asked  the  Doctor. 

''  But  it  does  say.  Doctor,  that  God  ordains 
whatsoever  comes  to  pass.  The  exceptional 
clause  does  not  deny  this,  but  simply  affirms 
that  God  is  not  the  author  of  sin.  But  does  it 
not  say  that  God  ordains  whatsoever  comes  to 
pass  ? " 

"  Certainly,  it  does." 

"  Every  event  ?  " 

"  Undoubtedly.     There  is  no  exception." 

"  Well,"  said  Ernest  with  a  triumphant  air, 
"  last  week  Mr.  Jones  killed  Tom  Smith  in 
cold  blood.  It  was  deliberate  assassination — 
murder  in  the  first  degree.  Now,  did  God  or- 
dain that  or  not  ?  " 

"  God  ordained  it  in  this  way  :  He  did  not 
decree  that  Jones  should  kill  Smith  without 
any  connection  with  other  events.  But  He 
fore-saw  that  certain  causes  would  operate  so 
as  to  culminate  in  the  murder ;  yet  He  permit- 
ted those  causes  to  operate,  for  the  accom- 
plishment of  some  wise  purpose.  The  difficulty 


HAttD  TEtTTSS.  15'^ 

is,  we  cannot  see  things  as  God  does.  We 
consider  it  as  an  awful  calamity  that  Jones 
should  kill  Smith,  when  we  have  no  idea  what 
the  divine  purpose  is.  The  murder  was  not 
an  isolated  circumstance,  but  it  was  the  legit- 
imate result  of  certain  other  causes  which  the 
two  men  themselves  might  have  controlled,  so 
far  as  their  own  free  agency  was  concerned. 
But  Jones  had  murder  in  his  heart,  and  the 
Lord  permitted  him  to  follow  his  own  inclina- 
tions. Now,  God  fore-saw,  from  all  eternity, 
that  this  murder  would  grow  out  of  other 
events,  yet  He  determined  to  permit  those 
events  to  occur,  and  in  that  sense  He  ordained 
it.  But  you,  surely,  cannot  infer  that  God  is 
the  author  of  the  murder.  God  is  not  the  au- 
thor of  men's  actions.  He  did  not  force  Jones 
to  kill  Smith.  But  let  me  ask  you  a  question. 
Suppose  lightning  had  killed  Mr.  Smith,  in- 
stead of  Jone's  knife,  would  you  say  that 
God  had  anything  to  do  with  it,  or  was  it  a 
pure  accident  ? " 

"  It  was  not  an  accident,"  said  Ernest,  ''  in 
the  usual  acceptation  of  the  word." 

"  You  are  correct,  because  with  God  there 
is  no  accident.  Well,  if  the  Lord  chose  to 
destroy  Smith  by  a  knife  in  the  hands  of  a 


158  DEEP   WATERS. 

wicked  man,  instead  of  lightning,  what  right 
have  we  to  cry  out,  '  horrible !  horrible  ! '  God 
sends  diseases  upon  men,  and  innocent  babes 
and  women,  and  good  men  are  swept  off  by 
thousands  ;  shall  we  accuse  the  Lord  of  cruelty 
and  inj  ustice  ?  " 

"No  ;  He  has  the  right  to  do  that." 
"And  so  He  has  the  right  to  remove  His 
creatures  in  whatever  way  He  may  please," 
said  the  Doctor.  "  I  firmly  believe  that  God 
ordained  the  present  war — not  arbitrarily, 
though, — not  as  an  isolated  circumstance; 
but  it  has  legitimately  grown  out  of  causes 
that  have  been  working  together  for  years. 
Men,  goaded  on  to  desperation  by  their  own 
evil  passions,  meet  upon  the  field  and  destroy 
each  other.  They  are  conscious  that  they  are 
acting  as  free  agents.  We  have  no  more  right 
then,  to  impeach  divine  goodness  for  permit- 
ting this  wholesale  butchery,  than  we  have  for 
allowing  Jones  to  kill  Smith,-  or  some  disease 
to  destroy  the  innocent  babe.  We  make  a 
great  mistake  by  supposing  that  there  ought 
not  to  be  violent  deaths  ;  they  are  the  neces- 
sary concomitants  of  sin,  and  must  ever  result 
from  the  inexorable  law  of  cause  and  effect." 
"  Well,  "  said  Ernest,  "  if  it  was  ordained 


HAED   TRUTHS.  159 

that  Jones  should  kill  Smith,  Jones  ought  not 
to  be  punished  for  the  deed." 

"  My  dear  Captain,"  said  the  Doctor  good 
humoredly,  "  a  lawyer  like  you,  ought  not  to 
quibble  in  that  way.  The  mere  fact  that  God 
permits  crime  does  not  destroy  human  respon- 
sibility. You  might  just  as  well  say  that 
Judas  ought  not  to  have  been  punished  for 
betraying  the  Savior.  Undoubtedly  it  was 
ordained  that  he  should  perform  that  deed  of 
shame  ;  because  it  wa,s  foretold  centuries  be- 
fore our  Lord's  advent." 

Ernest  knew  not  what  reply  to  make.  The 
Doctor  had  answered  his  objections.  So  he 
turned  the  leaves  of  the  book,  and  said : 

"  Here  is  another  passage  which  seems  to 
me  to  need  explanation." 

"What  is  it?" 

Ernest  read  as  follows  : 

"By  the  decree  of  Grod,  for  the  manifesta- 
tion of  His  glory,  some  men  and  angels  are 
predestinated  unto  everlasting  life,  and  others 
fore-ordained  to  everlasting  death. 

"  These  men  and  angels,  thus  predestinated 
and  fore-ordained,  are  particularly  and  un- 
changeably designed  and  their  number  is  so 
certain  that  it  cannot  be  either  increased  or 
diminished." 


160  l)EfiP  WATERS. 

"  That  reads  rather  harsh,  does  it  not  ? '' 
asked  the  Doctor. 

"Yes,  sir  ;  it  does." 

•'  And  yet  it  is  what  the  Bible  says." 

"  Where  will  I  find  that  ? "      • 

•'  Turn  to  Eomans  9  :  22-25  :  '  What  if  God, 
willing  to  show  His  wrath,  and  to  make  His 
power  known,  endured  with  much  long  suffer- 
ing, the  vessels  of  wrath  fitted  to  destruction; 
and  that  He  might  make  known  the  riches  of 
His  glory  on  the  vessels  of  mercy,  which  He 
had  afore  prepared  unto  glory  ?  '  " 

"  That  does  seem  to  teach  that  there  are 
two  classes,"  said  Ernest. 

"  Undoubtedly,  it  does." 

"But  it  says,"  continued  Ernest,  "  that  this 
number  is  so  fixed  and  certain  that  it  can 
neither  be  increased  nor  diminished." 

"  There  is  surely  no  difficulty  in  that,"  said 
the  Doctor.  "  It  is  a  mathematical  fact,  and 
would  be  true,  if  the  Scriptures  said  nothing 
about  it.  Leaving  predestination  entirely 
out  of  the  question,  that  would  be  true.  For 
on  the  Day  of  Judgment,  when  the  destiny  of 
every  human  being  is  settled,  there  will  be  a 
certain  number  saved,  and  a  certain  number 
lost.     Now,  can  the  number  be  increased  or 


HARD   TRUTHS.  161 

diminislied  ?  I  never  could  see  why  anybody 
should  object  to  that  clause,  when  it  is  true 
according  to  the  doctrine  of  every  religious 
denomination  in  the  world." 

''"Well,"  said  Ernest  laughing,  ''here  is 
more  of  this  hard  doctrine." 

''Let  us  hear  it,"  said  the  Doctor. 

Ernest  read  as  follows  : 

"  Those  of  mankind  that  are  predestinated 
unto  life,  God,  before  the  foundation  of  the 
world  was  laid,  according  to  His  eternal  and 
immutable  purpose,  and  the  secret  counsel 
and  good  pleasure  of  His  will,  out  of  His  mere 
free  grace  and  love,  without  any  foresight  of 
faith  or  good  works —  " 

"Yes,"  exclaimed  Ernest,  breaking  oif  sud- 
denly, "  there  it  is — without  any  foresight  of 
faith  or  good  works — saved  arbitrarily." 

Again  the  Doctor  gazed  at  Ernest  in  sur- 
prise. "  My  young  friend,"  said  the  Doctor, 
with  an  amused  expression,  "3^ou  do  not 
pause,  for  a  moment,  to  reflect  what  the  par- 
agraph does  really  mean,  but  you  at  once 
jump  to  unauthorized  conclusions." 

"  I  have  read  it  verMtim,^'  replied  Ernest. 

"But  you  did  not  read  it  all.  You  have 
readjust  as  our  opposers  do  who  give  garbled 


162  DEEP   WATERS. 

extracts  from  the  Confession,  and  then  draw 
the  most  absurd  inferences.  You  stopped  in 
the  middle  of  the  sentence.     Read  it  all." 

Ernest  read : 

"  Without  any  foresight  of  faith  or  good 
works,  or  perseverance  in  either  of  them,  or 
any  other  thing  in  the  creature,  as  conditions, 
or  causes  moving  Him  thereunto." 

"  Tlie  meaning,"  said  the  Doctor,  '•'  is  thai 
Grod  did  not  choose  His  people  on  account  of 
their  faith  and  good  works.  Faith  itself  is 
the  gift  of  Cod.  All  men  are  in  a  state  of 
guilt  by  nature.  How,  then,  could  the  Lord 
fore-see  faith  and  good  works  in  any  of  them, 
growing  out  of  their  evil  natures  ?  How 
could  they  possibly  perform  good  works  with- 
out a  regenerated  heart  ?  " 

'Tor  what  did  He  choose  them,  then?" 

''  I  can  answer  you  only  in  the  language  of 
His  own  Word,  which  says,  it  was  '  according 
to  the  good  pleasure  of  His  will.'  Certainly, 
the  Lord  has  some  good  reason  for  saving  a 
portion  of  the  human  race  and  rejecting,  or 
rather  passing  by  the  rest,  but  He  has 
nowhere  acquainted  us  with  that  reason.  If 
election  is  such  a  'hard'  doctrine,  what  would 
liave  been  the  result,   if  God  had  not  made 


HARD   TRUTHS.  163 

any  choice  at  all,  bat  left  men  to  follow  the 
bent  of  their  own  wills,  how  many  do  you  sup- 
pose would  have  been  saved?  The  carnal 
heart  is  enmity  against  God.  Could  men, 
then  have  chosen  God  ?  Yerily  not.  Christ 
Himself  declares,  '  No  man  can  come  unto  me, 
except  the  Father,  which  sent  me,  draw  him.' 
Do  you  not  see  clearly,  then,  that,  without 
this  much-abused  doctrine  of  election,  no 
human  being  could  possibly  be  saved  ?  It  is 
a  doctrine  Avhich  the  Church  cannot  'aflbrd  to 
give  up,  and  it  is  a  doctrine  to  which  every 
denomination  holds  in  some  form.  We  differ 
only  as  to  the  principle  upon  which  the  elec- 
tion is  based.  We  Presbyterians,  adhere 
rigidly  to  the  Bible,  and  say  that  God's  choice 
grows  out  of  His  own  will  and  pleasure,  while 
our  opposers  affirm  that  it  is  founded  upon 
the  good  works  of  the  creature,  and  thus  make 
salvation  a  matter  of  debt,  and  not  of  pure, 
free  grace.  That  is  the  difference  between  us, 
and  I  leave  it  to  you,  with  the  Bible  as  your 
guide,  to  determine  which  view  is  the  more 
Scriptural." 

''There  is  another  thing  I  should  like  to  ask 
you  about,"  said  Ernest,  feeling  that  he  could 
produce  no  further  objections. 


164  DEEP   WATEES. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  I  will  answer  to  the  best  of 
my  knowledge  and  ability." 

"I  have  heard  it  said  that  some  Presbyte- 
rian preachers  hold  to  the  view  that  there  are 
infants  in  hell  '  not  a  span  long. '  " 

"Did  you  ever  hear  one  say  such  a  thing? " 
asked  the  Doctor. 

"  No  sir  ;  I  never  did." 

"  And  did  you  ever  see  anybody  that  heard 
a  Presbyterian  minister  preach  it  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  No  ;  and  you  never  will,"  said  the  Doctor 
with  emphasis.  "  That  is  an  old  slander  with- 
out the  slightest  foundation.  We  would  in- 
stantly depose  any  Presbyterian  minister 
who  would  dare  to  make  such  an  assertion. 
The  truth  is,  we  believe  that  all  infants  that 
die  are  saved." 

"Your  Confession  says  something  about 
infants,  does  it  not,  Doctor?" 

"  0,  yes.  Give  me  the  book,  and  I  will  find 
it  for  you.  Here  it  is.  Chapter  X :  '  Elect  in- 
fants, dying  in  infancy,  are  regenerated  and 
saved  by  Christ  through  the  Spirit,  who 
worketh  when,  and  where,  and  how  He  pleas- 
eth.  " 

"  Elect  infants,  Doctor  ?  Does  not  that  im- 
ply that  there  are  non- elect  infants  ? " 


HAED   TKUTHS.  165 

"  You  can  put  that  construction  upon  it,  if 
you  wish,"  said  the  Doctor ;  "  but  the  term  is 
explained  in  several  ways.  I  really  do  not 
know  which  view  the  framers  of  the  Confes- 
sion intended  we  should  take.  So  we  are  at 
liberty  to  construe  it  in  that  way  which  ap- 
pears most  consistent  to  us." 

"  What  is  your  construction  ? 

"  It  is  this  :  all  mankind  are  evidently  di- 
vided into  two  classes — the  elect  and  the  non- 
elect — the  saved  and  the  lost.  You  believe 
that,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"  0,  yes  ;  that  is  true." 

"  Well,  of  course,  the  non-elect  are   sinners 
in  their  infancy  as  well   as  in  after  life.      In 
that   sense  there   are   non-elect  infants  ;  but 
we  do  not  believe  that  any  of  them  die  in  in 
fancy." 

"  But  how  do  you  know  that  they  do  not  ?  " 

"Because  Christ  says,  that  '  of  such  is  the 
kingdom  of  heaven. '  " 

"  According  to  your  view,  then,"  said  Ern- 
est, "  there  are  non-elect  infants,  but  they  do 
not  die  in  infancy  ?  " 

"  Exactly,"  replied  the  Doctor.  "  But  there 
is  another  explanation.  Some  say  the  fram- 
ers    of    the   Confession    put    in    the    word 


166  DEEP  WATEES. 

'  elect '  not  to  divide  infants^into  two  classes, 
but  to  show  upon  what  principle  they  are 
saved ;  they  are  elected  to  salvation.  Yon 
know,  John  uses  the  expression,  '  the  elect 
lady^'  and  her  sister.  This  certainly  would 
not  mean  that  there  was  a  non-elect  lady. 
Again,  in  the  form  for  the  baptism  of  infants 
in  the  Methodist  Discipline,  the  minister 
prays  that '  this  child  may  he  numbered 
among  tJie  elect  cliildren  of  God?  We  would 
not,  of  course,  insist  that  the  Methodists  be- 
lieve that  there  are  non-elect  children.  Some 
say  that  the  Confession  means  by  '  elect  in- 
fants,'just  what  the  Methodists  do  in  their 
form  of  baptism.  But  after  all,  the  Presby- 
terian Church  is  the  only  one  probably  whose 
doctrine  does  consistently  save  infants.  We 
declare  they  are  saved  by  election.  If  not, 
tell  me  how  they  can  be  saved  ?  They  can- 
not repent  and  believe  as  adults  do.  Then  do 
you  not  see,  if  they  are  not  elected  by  a  mer- 
ciful Father,  they  must  be  lost  forever  ?  " 

''Upon  my  Avord,"  quickly  and  honestly  ex- 
claimed Ernest,  "  I  had  never  looked  at  the 
subject  in  that  light.  You  have  taught  me 
something  I  never  knew  before." 

"  I  am  glad,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "  if  I  have 
helped  you  out  of  any  difficulty." 


HARD   TRUTHS.  167 

"  I  candidly  acknowledge,  Doctor,  that  the 
more  I  study  this  deep  subject,  the  more  reas- 
onable and  Scriptural  it  seems." 

And  here  the  discussion  ended  for  that  day. 
Ernest,  seeing  Mildred  walking  in  the  yard 
and  clipping  flowers,  vacated  his  seat  and 
joined  her.  The  Doctor  looked  at  him,  as  he 
left,  and  a  perceptible  smile  stole  over  his 
benevolent  face. 


-^M^- 


CHAPTER  IX. 


OFF  TO  THE  WARS." 


The  next  day  Ernest  and  the  Doctor  were 
alone  in  the  stad}^.  The  former  seemed  to  be 
a  little  restless,  like  a  man  who  wishes  to  say 
something,  but  knows  not  how  to  begin :  the 
latter  was  tranquil  as  usual,  poring  over  liis 
theological  books.  Ernest  would  try  to  read, 
and  then  glance  up  uneasily  at  the  calm  old 
man  upon  whose  open  face  God  had  put  the 
seal  of  honesty.  Ernest  became  fidgety.  But 
presently  he  spoke : 

"  Will  you  give  me  your  attention  just  a 
moment,  Doctor?" 

"  Certainly ;  I  am  at  your  service,"  replied 
the  Doctor,  laying  his  open  book  on  the  table. 

"You  believe  the  Confession  of  Faith?" 
asked  Ernest  with  a  merry  twinkle,  which 
escaped  the  preacher's  notice. 

"Undoubtedly,  I  do." 

"  Yesterday  you  said  you  believed  that  God 
ordained  whatsoever  comes  to  pass." 

168 


169 

"Yes,  I  believe  that,  too." 

"  Without  exception  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  Doctor,  unsuspiciously. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Ernest,  casting  his  eyes 
to  the  floor,  "  Miss  Mildred  has  agreed  to  be- 
come Mrs.  Edgefield,  when  this  '  cruel  war  is 
over.'  If  the  Lord  has  ordained  that,  you  will, 
of  course,  ofi'er  no  objection." 

The  old  minister  broke  out  into  a  hearty 
laugh  in  which  he  was  joined  by  Ernest. 

"  That  is  a  clever  turning  of  the  table,  my 
young  friend,"  said  the  Doctor  pleasantly. 
"  But  all  that  is  really  ordained  is  that  she 
has  agreed  to  the  arrangement." 

"  Yes  sir,  that  is  all." 

"  I  mean  so  far  as  we  actually  know.  We 
know  not  what  God  has  in  store  for  any  of  us. 
I  believe  that  the  Lord  directs  every  Christian 
in  his  affairs.  If  you  have  won  Mildred's 
heart,  I  shall  ofi'er  no  objection  to  your  union 
whenever  it  may  please  her  to  consummate  it. 
These  are  very  uncertain  times,  and  the  good 
Lord  only  knows  what  may  become  of  any  of 
us." 

"We  can  but  hope,  sir,"  said  Ernest. 

"  Hope  and  pray,"  replied  the  Doctor. 

Ernest  was  now  happy  and  unhappy — a 
thrilling  contradiction  which  all  will  under 


170  DEEP   WATERS. 

stand  who  have  been  in  the  same  condition. 
He  must  leave  in  a  few  hoars.  Would  he  ever 
return?  There  lay  before  him  the  prospect  of 
a  long  and  bloody  war.  How  many  battles 
like  that  of  Bull  Run  could  he  go  through,  and 
escape  with  his  life  ?  He  had  alread}^  been 
severely  wounded  in  the  first  fight  in  which 
he  had  been  engaged.  The  chances  seemed  to 
be  against  him.  Yet  did  not  God  control  the 
events  of  battle  ?  Could  He  not  save  and  pro- 
tect whom  He  would  ?  Something  similar  to 
this  the  Doctor  said  to  Ernest  the  morning  he 
was  to  rejoin  his  command. 

"  The  doctrine  which  we  have  several  times 
discussed,''  said  the  Doctor,  "has  always 
proved  to  be  a  source  of  great  comfort  to  me, 
and  it  will  be  to  you,  if  you  can  believe  it. 
Just  think  that  your  destiny  is  in  God's  hands, 
and  what  need  you  fear  ?  It  is  this  that  makes 
Jackson  the  Stoneioall  that  the  lamented  Bee 
called  him  with  his  dying  breath.  I  am  told 
that  Jackson  is  almost  a  fatalist.  But,  what- 
ever may  be  his  doctrinal  errors,  he  is  a  firm 
believer  in  God's  sovereignty.  The  conse- 
quence is,  he  is  afraid  of  nothing." 

"But  are  there  not  men  as  brave  as  he  is, 
who  do  not  believe  this  doctrine  ? "  asked 
Ernest. 


171 

"  Yes,  in  one  sense.  I  do  not  mean  to  say 
that  men  are  lacking  in  courage  who  reject 
the  doctrine  which  we  have  discussed.  But 
there  is  something  in  Jackson  which  is  more 
than  courage.  It  is  his  sublime,  inflexible 
faith.  There  are  numbers  of  men  who  will  go 
unflinchingly  into  any  of  the  dangers  of  bat- 
tle, but  they  are  animated  by  a  spirit  of  des- 
peration, by  human  feelings,  such  as  pride, 
ambition,  and  the  like.  But  Jackson  puts  him- 
self unreservedly  in  the  hands  of  God,  and 
accepts  whatever  comes  without  a  murmur. 
He  knows  that  he  can  never  be  killed  till  God 
speaks  the  word,  and  it  is  this  firm  belief  that 
gives  such  adamantine  solidity  to  his  grand 
and  exalted  character." 

That  morning  when  all  knelt  around  the 
family  altar,  it  was  a  most  solemn  and  affect- 
ing scene.  Ernest  was  now  regarded  as  one  of 
the  family.  The  Doctor  read  a  portion  of 
Scripture  suitable  to  the  occasion,  and  they 
sang  with  quivering  voices  three  or  four 
stanzas  of  that  familiar  old  hymn,  which 
seems  destined  to  go  sounding  down  through 
all  the  ages  till  the  last  of  the  redeemed  are 
gathered  home : 

"How  firm  a  foundation^  ye  saints  of  the  Lord, 
Is  laid  for  your  faith  in  His  excellent  word." 


172  DEEP   WATERS. 

Then  all  knelt  down  to  pray.  Ernest  had  the 
feeling  of  Jacob  when,  alone  at  Bethel, 
his  head  pillowed  upon  rock  the  patriarch 
said,  ^'surely  the  Lord  is  in  this  place." 
A  holy  inHuence  gently  stole  over  his  soul, 
as  the  Doctor,  in  a  husky  voice,  prayed  for 
their  guest.  All  arose  in  tears.  Ernest  shed 
tears  too,  but  they  were  strange  tears.  His 
faith  was  firmer,  and  he  felt  that  he  could 
trust  himself  in  the  hands  of  God. 

Alas !  those  were  days  that  tried  men's 
souls!  When  the  ''soldier  boy"  went  from 
his  home,  it  was  like  shaking  hands  over  the 
grave.  The  mother  drew  her  darling  son  to 
her  breast  and  imprinted  burning  kisses  upon, 
his  brow.  He  broke  loose  from  her  frantic 
embrace,  and  in  a  few  days  afterwards,  the 
news  was  brought  that  he  was  sleeping  in  the 
soldier's  bloody  grave.  Young  husbands  and 
wives  parted  to  meet  no  more  till  the  last 
trump  shall  call  them  up  on  the  resurrection 
morn.  No  pen  can  describe  the  a^vful  scenes 
of  those  four  years  of  fatricidal  strife.  Sad ! 
sad! sad! 

Ernest  was  accompanied  by  Mildred  to  the 
depot.  They  rode  in  a  buggy  while  Dr.  Ar- 
lington came  on  horse-back  in  the  rear.     The 


''off  to  the  waes."  173 

young  man  endeavored  to  be  lively  and  cheer- 
ful, and  this  humor  was  encouraged  by  Mil- 
dred. Yet  both  could  see  through  this  dis- 
guised mutual  gaiety.  It  was  not  natural. 
Frequently  there  were  long  pauses  in  their 
conversation.  Such  is  generally  the  case  with 
two  friends,  about  to  part  in  a  very  short 
time,  who  feel  that  they  ought  to  talk,  but 
can  think  of  no  topic  suitable  to  the  occasion. 
I  have  seen  two  brothers,  one  of  whom  was 
condemned  to  be  shot  for  a  military  offence, 
hold  their  last  interview  ;  it  was  a  silent  meet- 
ing. So  when  Ernest  and  Mildred  tried  to 
keep  up  a  cheerful  conversation,  they  would 
often  relapse  into  silence. 

"  O,  my  Mildred,"  cried  Ernest  with  deep 
emotion,  as  they  neared  the  depot,  "  I  can 
keep  up  this  false  show  no  longer.  I  am  not 
cheerful.  The  thought  of  leaving  you  is  as 
bitter  as  death,  and  I  may  as  Avell  give  vent 
to  my  real  feelings.  I  could  almost  wish  that 
I  had  never  met  you.  My  thoughts  will  all 
run  out  to  you.  0,  I  fear  we  shall  never  meet 
again." 

"  Why  should  Ave  look  on  the  dark  side  of 
the  picture  ?  "  asked  Mildred,  in  low,  sweet 
tones.     "There  is  a  kind  Father  above  who 


174  DEEP   WATEES. 

rules  in  the  affairs  of  men.  Whatever  may 
happen,  be  assured  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth 
will  do  right.  '  Our  times  are  in  His  hands.' 
He  will  do  that  which  is  best  for  us.  He  can 
throw  His  everlasting  arms  around  you,  and 
shield  you  in  the  terrors  of  the  hottest  battle. 
The  Mighty  God  controls  all  things." 

''  I  see,"  said  Ernest,  trying  to  smile,  "  that 
you  too,  endeavor  to  comfort  yourself  with 
that '  horrid '  Presbyterian  doctrine.  You  rely 
on  that  on  all  occasions." 

''Certainly  I  do,"  replied  Mildred.  "I  get 
as  much  comfort  from  it  as  from  any  truth 
taught  in  God's  Holy  Word." 

*'I  am  almost  convinced,"  said  Ernest, 
*'  that  predestination  is  a  doctrine  of  the  Bible, 
but  I  wish  I  could  bring  it  into  practical 
affairs,  as  you  do." 

"It  is  easy  to  do,"  replied  Mildred.  "Just 
put  3^ourself  unreservedly  into  the  hands  of 
God,  and  go  out  boldly  in  the  discharge  of 
duty.     Of  what  should  you  be  afraid  ? " 

"  Sometimes,"  said  Ernest,  "I  think  perhaps 
it  is  predestinated  that  I  shall  be  lost." 

"If  you  have  that  fear,  it  is  an  evidence 
that  you  are  not  so  predestinated.  If  you 
were  a  reprobate,  you  would  have  no  such 
fear.     You  would  be  indifferent." 


"  OFF   TO   THE   WAES."  175 

"If  I  am  one  of  tlie  elect,"  asked  Ernest, 
"  how  may  I  know  it  with  certainty  ? " 

"  God  does  not  leave  us  to  grope  in  doubt 
and  darkness,"  replied  Mildred.     "  If  you  love 
the  peojile  of  God,  love  the  Church  and  its 
services,  love  religion,  love  to  meditate  upon 
heavenly  things,  and  love  to  read  your  Bible, 
you  know  that  you  love  the  Lord  Jesus.     That 
is  a  certain  indication  that  the  heart  has  been 
renewed.     God  has  said  that  His  people  shall 
never  perish.      They  were  chosen  before  the 
foundation  of  the  world.     If  then,  I  was  chosen 
from  all  eternity,  how  happy  I  ought  to  feel; 
and  I  will  add,  how  happy  I  do  feel.     This' 
doctrine  of  election  and  predestination,  which 
is  so  horrible  to  some  people,  is  the  greatest 
source  of  comfort  to  me." 

"  You  ought  to  be  the  wife  of  a  minister," 
said  Ernest,  thoughtfully. 

"I  would   ask   no  higher   destiny  in   this 
world,"  modestly  replied  Mildred. 

"There  is  a  Baptist  preacher  in  my  town," 
said  Ernest,  "who  has  tried  to  make  me  be- 
lieve that  I  am  called  to  preach." 
"  What  made  him  think  so  ?  " 
Ernest  then  briefly  related  the  circumstances 
in  regard  to  the  matter,  with  which  the  reader 


176  DEEP   WATERS. 

is  acquainted.  Mildred  listened  with  the  most 
intense  interest,  and  a  flash  of  joy  suddenly 
illuminated  her  face. 

"I  am  glad  you  told  me  that,"  she  said, 
"  for  now  I  cannot  but  believe  that  God  is 
23repariijg  you  for  His  work  just  as  He  did 
Moses  in  the  land  of  Midian.  Go  on,  then  ; 
do  your  duty,  and  have  faith  in  God.  I  will 
try  to  believe  that  you  will  be  brought 
through  all  dangers  in  safety.  God  has 
something  for  you  to  do.  Are  you  willing  to 
walk  in  the  path  which  providence  points 
out?" 

"  I  am." 

"  Then  have  no  fears." 

And  from  that  moment  she  appeared  so 
cheerful  and  confident,  and  seemed  to  have 
such  strong  faith  in  the  divine  goodness,  love 
and  care,  that  Ernest  caught  her  spirit.  By 
the  time  they  arrived  at  the  depot  he  was  in 
much  better  spirits. 

"  I  am  now  satisfied,"  he  said,  as  they  were 
about  to  part,  "  that  there  is  something  more 
practical  in  the  doctrines  of  the  Presby- 
terian Church  than  T  had  ever  dreamed  of. 
Henceforth  I  shall  try  to  bring  them  into  my 
life  as  you  do.     But  I  am  very  skeptical  by 


177 

nature,  and  when  I  leave  you  I  may  again  fall 
into  doubt.  God  bless  you,  my  dear  Mildred, 
for  helping  to  lift  the  clouds  from  my  soul.  I 
feel  hopeful.  But  pray  for  me,  that  my  faith 
fail  not." 

Mildred  tried  hard  to  restrain  her  tears, 
but  it  was  in  vain.  They  were  tears  of  joy 
mingled  with  tears  of  sadness.  The  train 
was  heard  rumbling  in  the  distance,  and  Mil- 
dred said  :  "I  hope  you  will  not  regard  me  as 
a  Cassandra,  if  I  prophesy  that  you  will  at 
last  return  to  us  in  safety  ?  " 

''  You  shall  be  as  a  Deborah  to  me,"  replied 
Ernest.     "  You  must  write  to  me  every  day." 

"  Every  day  ?  " 

"What  I  mean  is,  keep  a  sort  of  daily 
journal,  and  send  it  to  me  once  a  week,  if  pos- 
sible. I  will  do  the  same,  and  it  will  be  a 
source  of  pleasure  to  us." 

The  foregoing  is  no  fancy-sketch,  but  an 
actual  occurrence,  and  shows  how  the  dearest 
friends  separated  during  the  terrible,  uncertain 
days  of  the  Great  Rebellion. 

Presently  the  train  came  dashing  in,  and 
Ernest  stepped  on  the  platform,  waved  his 
hand  to  Mildred,  and  entered  the  coach.  The 
conductor  shouted   "  All  aboard."     The  bell 


178  DEEP   WATERS. 

rang:  sizz — sizz — click — click  —  and  a  mo- 
ment after,  a  young  lady  with  a  solemn  face  was 
seen  in  a  buggy,  driving  slowly  and  thought- 
fully from  the  depot.  Her  thoughts  followed 
the  train  whose  roaring  she  could  hear  in  the 
distance.  When  she  reached  home,  how  sad 
all  nature  appeared !  She  went  to  her  room, 
locked  the  door,  fell  upon  her  knees,  and 
prayed  God,  with  all  the  earnestness  of  her 
soul,  to  shield  and  protect  him  upon  whom  her 
temporal  happiness  depended.  Hers  was  a 
sacred  love  which  God  sanctioned. 

Ernest,  as  the  train  went  dashing  along 
through  forest  and  fields,  sank  down  into  a 
seat,  and  without  efi^ort  directed  his  imagina- 
tion to  the  residence  of  the  good  Doctor  Ar- 
rington.  He  thanked  God  in  his  heart  for 
sending  him  to  that  house.  Suppose  he  had 
not  been  wounded,  he  thought,  or  suppose  he 
had  fallen  upon  some  other  part  of  the  field, 
the  probability  was.  Dr.  Arrington  would 
not  have  found  him.  How  could  he  fail  to 
recognize  the  hand  of  God  in  all  these  little 
circumstances  ?  Then,  he  prayed  the  Lord 
still  to  be  with  him,  and  direct  all  his  foot- 
steps. 

In  connection  with  such  thoughts  as   these, 


*'  OFF   TO   THE   WARS."  179 

his  memory  revived  scenes  wliich  liad 
transpired  the  previous  year.  He  recalled 
the  agony  of  his  unrequited  love  for  Clara 
Yanclure.  He  had  thought  that  he  never 
could  recover  from  the  wound  which  she  had 
so  ruthlessly  inflicted.  Three  months,  or  less, 
after  his  rejection,  she  had  married  his  rival, 
contrary  to  the  wishes  of  her  father.  He  be- 
came enraged  when  she  informed  him  that  she 
had  discarded  Ernest  Edgefield. 

"  You  have  acted  like  a — a — simpleton,"  he 
exclaimed,  suppressing  with  difficulty  a  much 
harsher  appellation.  "Whom  do  you  expect 
to  marry,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Comston,"  she  answered  hesitatingly. 

"Well,  well,  that  surpasses  my  comprehen- 
sion— surpasses  my  comprehension,"  he  cried. 
"  I  should  like  to  know  what  you  fancy  in 
him — yes,  fancy  in  him.  Ernest  is  worth  a 
thousand  such  cinnamon-scented  popinjajs — 
yes,  cinnamon-scented  popinjays." 

"Mr.  Comston  does  not  use  cinnamon," 
Clara  ventured  to  say  apologetically. 

"If  he  don't,"  exclaimed  the  irritated  par- 
ent, "  he  uses  musk  which  is  worse,  and  bear's 
oil,  and  such  other  tomfoolery — other  tom- 
foolery." 


180  DEEP   WATEES. 

Clara  blushed,  but  said  nothing  more,  wise- 
ly allowing  her  provoked  progenitor  to  give 
vent  to  his  indignation  till  the  storm  of  wrath 
should  subside.  Resistance  would  only  in- 
crease its  fury. 

But  she  married,  and  Ernest  saw  her  be- 
come the  bride  of  his  rival ;  for  she  had  sent 
him  a  card  to  her  wedding,  and  Ernest  went, 
to  show  her  how  little  he  cared. 

All  this  now  appeared  like  some  dim  dream 
that  flitted  through  his  mind  years  ago.  How 
thankful  he  now  felt  that  Comston  had  re- 
moved to  the  town  of in  time  to  pre- 
vent a  complicated  involution  of  the  threads 
of  destiny.  If  that  young  man  had  made  his 
advent  a  few  weeks  later,  the  conjugal  infelic- 
ity of  Ernest  would  have  been  an  assured 
fact— at  least  he  felt  so  now.  What  an  insig- 
nificant being  Clara  now  ajDpeared  when  put 
in  contrast  with  the  intelligent,  accomplished 
and  pious  Mildred  Arrington.  He  almost 
shuddered  as  he  thought  of  the  narrow  escape 
he  had  made.  And  the  question  came  up  in 
his  mind,  did  God  have  nothing  to  do  with 
this?  If  the  sparrow  does  not  escape  the 
beneficent  observation  of  the  Supreme  Being, 
surely' His  intelligent  creatures  will  receive  a 


"  OFF   TO   THE  WAKS."  181 

due  share  of  the  divine  watchfulness  and  lov- 
ing care. 

Again,  v^hile  the  train  was  thundering  along 
its  iron  track,  sad  and  gloomy  thoughts  and 
doubts,  calculated  to  banish  all  cheerfulness, 
would  suddenly  spring  up  in  his  mind,  and 
the  trembling  light  of  hope  would  almost  dis- 
appear in  the  darkness.  He  recalled  the  old 
adage,  "  Man  proposes,  God  disposes."  Sup- 
pose his  intended  union,  after  all,  with  Mil- 
dred should  not  be  in  accord  with  the  Divine 
purpose  ?  Could  he  give  her  up  ?  Would  he 
not  rebel,  and  murmur  against  God's  will  ? 
Alas !  how  hard  it  is  for  a  human  being  to 
tread  the  appointed  path  of  destiny  with  his 
will  in  complete  subjection  to  that  of  the 
Heavenly  Father  !  At  times,  man  cannot  but 
think  that  his  own  chosen  way  is  best.  The 
retrospective  view  convinces  him  of  his  folly 
and  infirmity. 

^'  While  I  mused,  the  fire  burned,"  said  the 
Psalmist.  While  the  train  rattled  along, 
Ernest  thought  and  mused.  Presently  a 
brakesman  cried  out,  " Station."  Ern- 
est gathered  up  his  baggage,  and  in  a  short 
time  was  shaking  hands  with  his  comrades- 
in-arms. 


CHAPTER  X. 


A  DANGEROUS   MISSION. 


In  tlie  progress  of  the  present  story  we  have 
now  come  to  some  of  those  strange,  startling, 
and  almost  incredible  events  which  prove  the 
truth  of  the  old  proverb,  "  Truth  is  stranger 
than  Fiction,"  and  which  could  occur  only  in 
those  times  when  the  foundations  of  society 
are  shaken  by  martial  upheavals  and  com- 
motions. 

We  stop  at  a  small  farm-house  a  few  miles 
from  Manassas,  and  not  far  from  the  residence 
of  Dr.  Arrington.  It  is  in  the  afternoon  of  a 
beautiful  day.  We  open  the  door  of  one 
room  of  the  little  farm-house,  and  find  our- 
selves in  the  presence  of  two  Confederate 
officers,  of  high  rank,  who  are  engaged  in  an 
earnest  conversation.  Both  have  long  since 
passed  into  history,  and  are  inseparably  con  - 
nected  with  the  "  Great  Rebellion."  The 
whole  history  of  any  war  is,  in  fact,  comprised 
in  the  biographies  of  a  few  individuals.      The 

182 


A   DANGEEOUS   MISSIOI^^.  183 

lives  of  Lee,  Grant,  Jackson,  Sherman,  and  a 
few  others  that  could  be  readily  named,  cover 
the  entire  field  of  the  War  of  Secession. 

It  is  not  essential  to  our  story  that  we 
should  give  the  names  of  the  two  Generals  to 
whom  reference  has  just  been  made.  For 
reasons  which  are  clear  to  the  author,  it  is 
deemed  advisable  to  leave  our  reader  the 
pleasure  of  identifying  them,  if  he  can. 
Merely  for  the  sake  of  convenience  we  will 
designate  one  as  General  A.  and  the  other  as 
General  B.  As  we  stand  in  one  corner  of  the 
room,  eaves-dropping,  as  is  the  privilege  of 
the  I^ovelist,  we  hear  the  following  colloquy: 

"It  will  require  a  peculiar  person  for  the 
business,"  said  Gen.  A.  in  a  rather  low  tone. 
''  It  must  be  a  woman — and  a  woman  of  in- 
telligence, discretion  and  courage." 

''I  know  just  such  a  one,"  replied  Gen.  B., 
"  but  I  should  dislike  to  ask  her  to  run  the 
risk  that  must  be  incurred." 

''These  are  times,"  answered  Gen.  A.,  "which 
demand  sacrifices.  Our  Southern  men  and 
women  should  be  willing  to  incur  danger  for 
the  sake  of  their  country.  Cannot  the  South 
furnish  an  Iphigenia  if  one  is  necessary  to  the 
success  of  our  arms  ? " 


184  DEEP    WATERS. 

''No  doubt,  many  can  be  found,"  replied 
Gen.  B.,  "  but  I  should  dislike  to  sacrifice  any 
of  our  noble  women,  if  it  could  possibly  be 
avoided." 

"  Would  it  not  be  better,"  coolly  asked 
Gen.  A.,  "  to  sacrifice  a  woman  in  theprosecu 
tion  of  this  business  than  a  good  soldier? 
But  who  is  the  lady  you  mentioned  ?  We  can 
discuss  the  ethics  of  the  case  at  some  other 
time." 

"It  is  the  daughter  of  Dr.  Arrington," 
answered  Gen.  B.  "  I  dined  with  his  family 
last  Sabbath,  and  I  was  impressed  with  the 
idea  that  the  young  lady  is  just  such  a  woman 
as  you  have  described." 

"  I  am  willing,"  said  Gen.  A.,  "  to  take  your 
judgment  in  this  case.  When  can  we  have 
an  interview  with  her,  do  you  suppose  ?  " 

"Any  time  we  may  call,  I  think." 

"  Suppose  we  go  at  once,  then,"  said  Gen. 
A.     "The  business  is  urgent." 

Accordingly  the  two  officers  mounted  their 
horses.  Half  an  hour  later  they  alighted  at 
Dr.  Arrington's  residence.  They  were  met 
by  the  Doctor,  and  shown  into  the  parlor. 
After  talking  a  short  time  upon  general  topics, 
Gen.  B.  broached  the  particular  subject  that 
had  caused  the  visit. 


A   DAISTGEEOUS   MISSION.  185 

''Dr.  Arrington,"  said  he,  "Gen.  A.  is  in 
search  of  a  person  to  perform  a  delicate  and 
hazardous  duty.  The  service  is  of  such  a 
nature  that  no  one  but  a  lady  can  peform  it 
well,  and  it  must  be  a  lady  of  bravery,  discre- 
tion and  intelligence." 

"  I  do  not  know  where  you  can  lind  one  in 
this  community  who  will  fulfill  such  require- 
ments," said  the  Doctor. 

"I  have  taken  the  liberty,"  said  Gen.  B., 
without  seeming  to  have  noticed  the  Doctor's 
remark,  "  to  suggest  your  daughter,  .Miss 
Mildred." 

"I  doubt," 'replied  the  Doctor,  "that  she 
possesses  the  qualifications  you  have  named— 
at  least,  I  do  not  know  that  she  is  brave." 

"Probably,"  suggested  Gen.  A.,  "you  have 
never  seen  her  courage  put  to  the  test." 

"  No,  I  cannot  say  that  I  have." 

"However,"  continued  Gen.  A.,  "the  busi- 
ness I  have  in  hand  requires  more  tact  than 
courage." 

"  Is  it  a  perilous  business.  General  ?  " 

"Perilous  in  case  of  detection  ;  yes,  sir." 

"I  profess  to  love  my  country,"  said  the 
Doctor,  "and  I  am  willing  to  make  sacrifices 
for  it,  but  I  cannot  speak  for  my  daughter.     I 


186  DEEP    WATERS. 

will  call  her,  if  you  wish,  and  let  her  speak 
for  herself." 

"If  you  please,"  said  Gen.  A.  "We  men- 
tioned the  matter  to  you  first  in  order  to  get 
vour  consent  to  an  interview  with  her." 

The  Doctor  went  out  of  the  room,  and  in  a 
few  moments  returned  with  Mildred,  intro- 
ducing her  to  Gen.  A.,  who  had  never  seen  her 
before.  An  explanation  of  how  and  why 
Gen.  B.  had  formed  the  acquaintance  of  this 
family  would,  no  doubt,  lead  at  once  to  his 
personal  identification. 

"Shall  I  remain  in  the  rooni?"  asked  the 
Doctor,  after  Mildred  was  seated. 

"Certainly;  we  expected  you  to  do  so," 
replied  Gen.  A. 

The  true,  actual  history  of  the  war  of  1861 
will  never  1  e  written.  It  cannot  be.  It  is 
only  general  events  that  the  dignity  of  history 
will  condescend  to  record.  Take  the  battle  of 
Bull  Run,  which  has  been  so  briefly  described 
in  previous  pages  of  our  story.  Scarcely 
anything  more  than  the  events  which  we  have 
outlined  will  go  down  to  future  generations. 
The  thousand  little  incidents  which  constituted 
the  very  essence  of  the  light,  and  give  to  it  a 
coloring  which  the  historical  brush  must  ever 


A    DANaEROUS   MISSION.  187 

miss,  will  never  be  known.  The  history  of  a 
battle  is  nothing  more  than  a  picture  of  it : 
three-fourths  of  the  scenes  are  left  out. 

From  one  till  three  o'clock  who  can  tell 
what  occurred  on  the  Held  of  Bull  Run?  The 
war-cloud  floated  in  fragments  :  it  was  like  a 
fog.  The  contest  seemed  to  dwindle  almost 
into  individaal  combats.  The  grim  warriors 
were  mixed  up  in  a  dense  cloud  of  smoke, 
through  which  the  historian  cannot  see  clear- 
ly. It  was  not  till  after  three  o'clock  that  the 
battle  presented  an  aspect  that  comes  within 
the  scope  of  history.  To  get  the  correct 
histor}^  of  those  two  or  three  hours,  each 
individual  like  Ernest  would  have  to  tell  what 
occurred  within  his  sight.  Little  incidents, 
though  thrilling,  such  as  we  are  about  to 
relate,  are  rejected  from  the  domain  of  sober 
history.  Individual  deeds  of  daring  and 
heroism,  necessity  demands  shall  find  their 
place  in  the  province  of  biography.  Accord- 
ingly that  which  Mildred  performed  will  be 
found  recorded  nowhere  except  in  the  pages 
of  this  story. 

'^  We  have  a  mission, "said  Gen.  A.  presently, 
"  which  only  a  lady  can  accomplish,  and  Gen. 
B.  has  suggested  you  as  a  person  who  would 


188  DEEP  WATERS. 

be  likely  to  undertake  it ;  and  this  is  the  object 
of  our  present  visit." 

Mildred  looked  surprised. 

"  If  it  is  anything  I  can  do,  General,"  she 
said,  "I  think  I  have  sufficient  patriotism  to 
undertake  it." 

"I  have  no  doubt  of  that.  But,  to  make  a 
long  story  short,  we  want  a  lady  to  go  into 
the  capital — Washington  City,  I  mean." 

Gen.  A.  watched  her  face  closely  and  crit- 
ically as  he  said  this.  Mildred  did  not  appear 
to  be  amazed  at  this  information,  but  she 
quietly  said : 

"  Will  that  be  easy  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know ;  it  depends  upon  the  tact 
of  the  person  that  tries  it,"  answered  Gen.  A. 

"I  infer,  then,"  she  said,  "that  I  would 
have  to  avoid  the  pickets  and  sentinels  ?  " 

"Not  so  much  that  as  other  things  which  I 
will  explain  to  you.  But  I  shall  not  conceal 
the  fact  from  you,  that  if  you  ^are  detected, 
the  consequences  will  be  enough  to  terrify  not 
only  a  lady,  but  a  desperate  man." 

"  Death,  would  it  be  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  firm, 
but  gentle  tone  which  convinced  Gen.  A.  that 
Gen.  B.  was  not  mistaken  in  his  estimate  of 
her  character. 


A   DANGEEOUS    MISSION.  189 

"  Death,  and '  death  by  hanging ',"  answered 
Gen.  A.  with  an  emphasis  designed  to  test  her 
nerves. 

"  O,  General !"  exclaimed  the  Doctor  in 
some  alarm,  "  that  is  asking  too  much  of  my 
child.  She  is  too  delicate  and  timid  to  take 
such  a  risk." 

"I  shall  not  insist  upon  anyone's  undertak 
ing  it,"  replied  Gen.  A.  with  a  disappointed 
look.  "  Gen.  B.  here  suggested  that  your 
daughter  would  be  the  kind  of  person  we  need, 
but  if  you  object  we  will  say  no  more  about 
it." 

"  My  kind  father  has  spoken  hastily,"  said 
Mildred  with  dignity.  "  I  do  not  know  why 
the  women  of  our  country  should  not  sometimes 
risk  their  lives  as  well  as  the  soldiers.  Suppose 
I  should  lose  my  life,  it  is  no  more  than  hun- 
dreds have  alread.y  done.  I  am  not  afraid.  I 
will  go,  General,  unless  my  father  positively 
forbids  it." 

"  There  will  be  no  very  great  risk,  though, 
after  all,"  said  Gen,  A.,  "especially  after  you 
are  in  the  city.  I  have  a  paper  to  be  delivered 
to  a  certain  person  in  Washington.  If  you 
were  caught  with  that  paper,  you  would  no 
doubt  be  treated  as  a  spy,  but  a  lady  of  intel- 
ligence and  tact  can  conceal  it," 


190  DEEP   WATERS. 

"  Could  I  not  commit  the  contents  to  memo- 
ry and  write  them  out  after  I  get  into  the  city  ?" 
asked  Mildred. 

"  No  ;  the  person  who  is  to  receive  it  must 
have  the  original  paper." 

Mildred  reflected  for  a  moment,  and  turning 
to  the  Doctor  said  : 

"  Father,  I  am  willing  to  do  this  small  ser- 
vice for  the  General." 

"It  is  no  small  service,  I  should  think,"  in- 
terrupted the  Doctor. 

"No,"  replied  the  General,  "it  is  a  very 
great  service,  one  which  will  bring  your  coun- 
try under  obligations." 

"  What  do  you  say,  father?"  asked  Mildred. 

"  My  child,"  said  the  doctor  with  some  emo- 
tion, "  I  cannot  encourage  you  to  do  it.  I  will 
leave  it  to  your  own  judgment.  I,  however, 
would  prefer  to  undertake  the  mission  myself, 
if  that  would  answer." 

"If  the  business,"  answered  Gen.  A.,  "  could 
be  accomplished  by  a  man,  we  have  any  num- 
ber of  soldiers  in  camp  who  would  cheerfully 
volunteer,  but  no  person  will  answer  but  an 
intelligent  lady.  You  will  see  that  when  I 
enter  into  fuller  explanations." 

"If  this  be  so,  father,  it  seems  to  me  that  I 


A    DANGEROUS   MISSION.  191 

ought  to  perform  this  service  for  the  country. 
The  enemy  can  but  destroy  this  body,  if  I 
should  be  detected.  Suppose,  General,"  turn- 
ing to  him,  "  you  can  find  no  lady  who  will 
undertake  the  affair,  what  will  be  the  conse- 
quence ?" 

"  That  will  be  difficult  to  foretell  or  foresee," 
replied  Gen.  A.  "  It  might  cause  the  loss  of  a 
great  battle.  On  the  other  hand,  her  going 
might  result  in  achieving  the  independence  of 
the  Confederate  States.  Very  little  affairs  of 
this  kind  frequently  result  in  great  things." 

"  Then,  father,"  said  Mildred  with  firmness, 
"  I  can  no  longer  hesitate.  We  helpless  wo- 
men ought  to  serve  our  country  in  some  way 
in  the  hour  of  need.  Will  you  give  your  con- 
sent, father." 

"  I  can  not  tell  you  either  to  go  or  to  stay," 
answered  the  Doctor.     "  Do  as  you  please." 

"  Then,  General,  I  will  go  and  do  the  best  I 
can  for  you.     What  is  it  you  wish  me  to  do  ?" 

"  When  can  3^ou  start  ?"  asked  Gen.  A. 

"  To-morrow,  if  you  desire  it." 

"  Very  well :  now  give  me  your  attention 
and  I  will  tell  you  what  is  to  be  done.  The 
paper  of  which  I  spoke  is  this,"  taking  a  fold- 
ed document  from  his  pocket.  "  You  see  this 
is  a  map." 


192  BEEP  WATERS. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  enter  into  details  in 
regard  to  this  map.  Besides  it  might  not  be 
advisable  to  nnfold  any  portion  of  the  secret 
history  of  the  "  Great  Rebellion  "  at  this  time 
when  some  of  the  actors  in  the  scenes  we  are 
now  describing  are  yet  living. 

"  This,"  continued  the  General,  "  is  to  be 
delivered  to  a  gentleman  by  the  name  of  Beall." 

"  What  is  his  address  ?"  asked  Mildred. 

"  That  I  am  not  able  to  give  you  at  pres- 
ent," responded  Gen.  A.  "He  changes  his 
quarters  frequently  ;  but  there  are  five  hotels 
at  which  he  stops,  and  you  will  find  him  regis- 
tered in  one  of  them."  The  General  here  in- 
formed her  how  she  could  identify  Beall,  with 
whose  melancholy  history  our  reader  is  prob- 
ably acquainted.  "  This  paper  must  be  put 
into  the  hands  of  Captain  Beall,"  continued 
Gen.  A.,  "  and  no  one  else." 

"  Yes,  I  understand,"  said  Mildred. 

"  The  principal  danger,"  the  General  went 
on,  "lies  in  this.  If  you  should  be  arrested 
with  this  paper  on  your  person  or  in  your  pos- 
session, your  fidelity  to  your  country  will  cost 
you  very  dearly,  you  understand." 

"  Yes,  sir,  my  life  will  be  the  price." 

"  When  you  meet  Beall,"   coolly  resumed 


A    DANGEEOUS   MISSION.  193 

Gen.  A.,  *'  he  will  give  you  another  paper 
which  you  are  to  bring  to  me.  Of  course  I 
will  have  to  leave  some  of  the  details  to  your 
own  good  sense  and  tact.  If  you  should  get 
into  any  difficulty,  do  not  lose  your  presence 
of  mind  and  self-possession.  Keep  cool  under 
all  circumstances,  and  I  think  you  will  soon 
come  back  to  us  in  safety." 

After  some  further  directions  and  explana- 
tions, which  can  be  omitted  without  detriment 
to  our  story,  the  Greneral  said  : 

*^  IS^ow,  you  fully  understand  what  is  to  be 
done;  are  you  still  willing  to  go  ?" 

Mildred  looked  appealingl}^  at  her  father, 
but  he  said  not  a  word. 

*'What  do  you  say,  father?"  she  again 
asked. 

"I  candidly  confess,"  he  replied  at  last 
"  that  I  dislike  to  see  my  daughter  subjected 
to  exposure  of  this  sort.  Probably  the  result 
may  be  such  as  makes  me  shudder  to  think 
about  it,  and  then  my  gray  hairs  would  be 
brought  in  sorrow  to  my.  grave.  In  that  case, 
I  never  could  forgive  myself  for  not  having 
forbidden  her  to  go." 

''Well,"  said  Gen.  A.,  "I  shall  not  even 
now  insist  upon  her  going.     She  can  still  de- 


194  DEEP   WATERS. 

cline  if  she  wish.  The  danger  is  just  what  I 
have  represented  it.  If,"  turning  to  Mildred, 
''  you  shrink  from  it,  you  would  better  decline 
at  once." 

''  It  is  not  the  danger  I  dread,"  answered 
Mildred.  "  I  am  willing  to  serve  my  country 
in  any  waj^  I  can,  even  to  the  extent  of  shed- 
ding my  blood,  but  I  dislike  to  do  anything 
that  will  cause  my  father  to  suffer.  But  I 
have  already  told  yoa  I  would  go,  and  so  I  will 
unless  my  father  sees  proper  to  exercise  his 
parental  authority  and  forbids  it." 

"I  shall  not  forbid,"  said  the  Doctor.  "I 
want  you  to  consult  your  own  feelings  and 
judgment  and  act  accordingly." 

"  Then  General,"  said  Mildred  with  firmness, 
"  I  shall  start  in  the  morning.  There  is  no 
use  of  any  further  discussion." 

"God  bless  you!"  exclaimed  General  B., 
who  had  not  taken  any  part  in  the  conversa- 
tion. "  I  thought  I  could  not  be  mistaken  in 
your  character.  I  knew  your  religious  train- 
ing had  developed  those  very  traits  which  pe- 
culiarly qualify  you  for  this  perilous  under- 
taking. May  God  protect  and  crown  the  un- 
dertaking with  deserved  success." 

As  the  officers  were  riding  away.  Gen.  B. 
said: 


A   DANGEROUS   MISSION.  195 

"  What  a  pity  it  would  be  if  that  noble  girl 
should  be  arrested  and  — " 

"Hanged?"  spoke  up  Gen.  A.,  finishing  the 
uncompleted  sentence. 

"  Yes  ;  it  would  be  terrible,"  answered  Gen. 
B. 

"  Well,"  said  Gen.  A.  deliberately,  "  war 
signifies  bloodshed.  If  the  young  lady  falls  a 
victim,  does  not  the  occasion  demand  the  sac- 
rifice." 

And  the  two  officers  rode  on. 


--i5"?^^^'GJ^r- 


CHAPTER  XI. 


A  BRAVE  GIRL. 

It  mighl,  seem  strange  to  the  reader  who  is 
unacquainted  with  the  nature  of  war,  that  a 
young,  intelligent,  and  accomplished  lady 
should  have  undertaken  such  an  enterprise  as 
that  partlydescribed  in  the  previous  chapter. 
But  it  must  be  remembered  that  war  introduces 
customs  and  modes  of  thought  which  would  be 
subversive  of  our  notions  of  propriety  in  times 
of  peace.  The  women  of  the  South  were  fre- 
quently thrown  by  the  force  of  circumstances 
into  strange  and  unusual  situations  during  the 
dark  and  stormy  days  of  the  "  Great  Rebel- 
lion." They  had  to  perform  many  duties  which 
would  have  been  palpable  violations  of  the 
laws  of  etiquette  under  different  circumstances. 
Besides,  we  are  all  creatures  of  habit,  and  our 
character  depends  upon  our  education.  This 
fact  is  our  authority  for  the  assertion,  that  in 
our  social  relations  there  is  scarcely  anything, 
if  there  is  really  anything,  proper  or  improper 
196 


A   BEAVE    GIRL.  197 

yer  se — anything  inherently  absolute.  Many 
of  our  terms  are  merely  relative  :  they  have  no 
fixed  definition.  No  absolute  rules  can  be  laid 
down  that  shall  determine  whether  a  given 
line  of  conduct  is  modest  or  immodest.  Circum- 
stances only  can  determine.  An  angel,  for 
instance  could  use  language  in  the  pulpit  which 
ordioary  ministers  of  the  Gospel  would  not 
dare  to  employ.  One  nation  regards  a  thing 
as  proper,  which  another  considers  improp- 
er. Hence,  there  can  be  no  fixed  code  of 
propriety. 

Bearing  these  facts  in  mind,  we  can  under- 
stand why  it  was  that  Mildred  could  see  no 
impropriety  in  undertaking  to  make  her  way 
alone  into  Washington — which  she  did  in  less 
than  forty- eight  hours  after  the  interview  with 
the  two  Confederate  Generals.  The  statement 
of  this  fact  is  sufiicient,  without  entering  into 
particulars  in  regard  to  the  difficulties  which 
she  encountered.  She  remained  in  the  city 
three  days  till  she  found  the  unfortunate  Cap- 
tain Beall,  to  whom  she  delivered  the  papers, 
and  from  whom  she  received  others  for  Gen. 
A.  Her  mission  having  been  successfully 
accomplished,  she  returned,  and  reported  to  the 
Confederate    officer.     His    rather    stern    face 


198  DEEP   WATEES. 

assumed  a  smile,  as  lie  took  her  by  the  hand 
and  congratulated  her  upon  her  success. 

"  Here  is  a  check  for  a  thousand  dollars,"  he 
said  as  she  finished  her  report. 

"  But  I  did  not  expect  to  be  paid,  General," 
she  said.  "  I  undertook  the  mission  because 
I  love  my  country,  and  desire  to  do  something 
in  the  struggle  for  independence." 

"You  are  not  a  soldier,"  replied  Gen.  A. 
"  We  have  no  right  to  your  services  without 
compensation.  This  is  only  a  partial  reward 
for  what  you  have  done." 

"  I  do  not  ask  any  remuneration." 

"  You  have  been  in  danger,"  said  Gen.  A.. 
"Besides,  I  will  want  you  to  go  on  a  similar 
mission  in  a  few  days,  and  I  have  no  right  to 
your  time.  I  am  aware  that  the  salary  of 
ministers  is  small,  and  funds  do  not  come 
amiss.  You  have  earned  this  money,  and  I 
insist  upon  your  taking  it.     It  is  yours." 

"  I  can  do  with  it  as  I  please  ?  "  asked  Mil- 
dred after  a  short  pause. 

"  Certainly  you  can." 

"Then,"  said  Mildred,  "I  will  take  it.  I 
know  how  I  can  use  it  to  good  purpose." 

"  Well,"  said  the  General,  handing  her  the 
check,  "  can  you  go  on  a  similar  mission  ? " 

*'  To  the  same  place  ?  " 


A  BRAVE   GIRL.  199 

*'  Yes." 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  I  will  go." 

"  When  can  you  start  ?" 

"To-morrow,  if  necessary." 

"I  am  truly  glad,"  said  Gen.  A.  ''for  I  have 
another  paper  which  ought  to  be  in  Washing- 
ton now.  I  was  afraid  to  entrust  it  to  you  till 
you  had  proved  that  it  was  practicable  to  go 
in  and  out  of  the  city.  But  since  you  know 
now  exactly  what  to  do,  I  feel  that  there  will 
be  little  risk." 

"  It,  too,  is  a  dangerous  paper,  is  it  ?" 

"It  is,  and  if  you  are  detected  with  it,  the 
deathof  another  party  will  be  the  consequence. 
If  you  can  manage  to  give  it  to  Capt.  Beall 
there  will  be  no  danger  to  you." 

"  I  can  do  that,"  replied  Mildred.  "  I  know 
how  to  find  him." 

"You  see,"  said  Gen.  A.  "I  have  written 
the  message  on  this  pocket  handkerchief  so 
that  you  can  conceal  it  in  your  clothing." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Mildred,  taking  the  hand- 
kerchief, "  I  can  conceal  this  so  that  it  will 
escape  the  most  rigid  search." 

"  I  can  trust  you  for  that,"  said  the  General. 

"If  nothing  providential  interferes,"  said 
Mildred,  "I  shall  start  in  the  morning." 


200  DEEP   WATEES. 

*'Tliank  you,"  answered  Gen.  A.  "When 
you  return,  you  shall  receive  your  reward." 

"  We  will  talk  about  that  when  I  get  back," 
she  said,  as  she  took  her  leave. 

Accordingly,  the  next  morning  she  again 
started  for  the  city  of  Washington,  without 
the  slightest  misgiving  or  premonition  of  evil. 
Indeed  what  had  she  to  fear?  She  knew 
exactly  how  to  proceed.  She,  therefore,  boldly 
entered  the  city,  after  having  complied  with 
such  military  requisitions  as  were  necessary 
in  those  days.  It  was  frequently  the  case  that 
the  most  elegant  ladies  of  the  South,  mounted 
upon  bales  of  cotton  in  an  ox-wagon,  went 
shopping  in  cities  that  were  under  Federal 
jurisdiction.  Some  had  to  take  the  oath  of 
allegiance  to  tlieU.  S.  Government,  and  others, 
by  their  extreme  cleverness,  managed  to  ''  get 
through  the  lines  "  without  compromising  their 
fealty  to  the  Confederacy.  It  is  not  necessary 
to  describe  Mildred's  military  maneuvers  in 
order  to  secure  both  ingress  and  egress.  But 
more  light  will  be  thrown  on  this  subject  as  the 
story  proceeds. 

Again  Mildred  was  in  Washington.  She 
registered  at  the  very  same  hotel  at  which  she 
had  put  up  before.    This  was  the  first  mistake 


A  BEAVE  GIRL.  201 

that  she  had  made.  For  even  her  first  visit 
had  aroused  the  suspicions  of  the  head  clerk. 
However,  without  manifesting  the  least  sur- 
prise, he  assigned  her  to  a  room,  remarking 
that  it  would  be  half  an  hour  before  the  cham- 
ber would  be  ready  for  occupancy. 

''  You  can  sit  in  the  parlor  for  that  length 
of  time  ?  "  he  asked  with  a  bland  smile. 
"  Certainly,"  replied  Mildred. 
"Thanks,"      he     said,     bowing      politely. 
"Please  step  this  way." 

Mildred  followed  him  to  the  elegant  parlor, 
and  seated  herself  on  one  of  the  luxurious 
sofas. 

"I  will  return  in  a  short  time,"  said  the 
urbane  clerk,  "  and  have  you  shown  to  your 
room.    Please  make  yourself  comfortable." 

He  bowed  himself  out  of  the  apartment,  and 
was  gone  about  twenty  minutes.  Seating  him- 
self, he  manifested  a  disposition  to  engage  in 
conversation — at  which  Mildred  exhibited  sur- 
prise as  well  as  aversion. 

''  You  have  no  friends  in  the  city,  lady  ? " 
he  said  half  inquiringly  and  half  declaratively. 
She  could  construe  it  either  w^ay. 

"  Sir?"  said  Mildred  in  a  tone  that  plainly 
indicated  disinclination  to  talk. 


202  DEEP   WATERS. 

"I  made  a  remark  about  your  friends,"  said 
the  clerk,  "  but  it  does  not  matter.  You  have 
been  to  the  city  before  have  you  not  ?  " 

''I  have,  sir,"  answered  Mildred  in  a  frigid 
tone.     "  Is  my  room  ready  ?" 

"  Not  quite,  ma'am.  The  chambermaid  will 
be  in  presently.  How  long  will  you  want  the 
room  ?    asked  the  clerk. 

"  Why  do  you  wish  to  know  ?" 

"  O,  merely  to  know.  Sometimes  we  like  to 
know  how  long  our  guests  will  remain — it  is  a 
matter  of — of — convenience." 

"  I  will  notify  you  when  I  am  ready  to  vacate 
it,"  said  Mildred  coldly. 

''  0,  yes,  of  course,  you  can  retain  it  as  long 
as  you  wish.  I  meant  no  offence.  Have  you 
heard  the  news  ?" 

"  What  news  ? "  asked  Mildred. 

^'  Why,  a  terrible  battle  has  been  fought — it 
was  on  yesterday  at :  an  awful  fight." 

''  No,  sir,  I  have  not  heard  of  it,"  answered 
Mildred  changing  to  a  more  gentle  tone,  yet 
expressive  of  indifference. 

"  You  do  not  seem  to  take  much  interest  in 
military  affairs?"  remarked  the  clerk.  "I 
thought  everybody  was  eager  to  hear  of  the 
success  of  our  arms.  The  Rebels  received  a 
fearful  chastisement  yesterday." 


A    BRAVE    GIRL.  203 

''  They  did  ? "  asked  Mildred,  trying  to 
appear  indiflfereiit  under  the  searching  gaze  of 
this  impudent  clerk. 

"  Indeed,  they  did.  You  will  hear  the  guns 
booming  presently  in  honor  of  the  great  victory. 
There  were  ten  thousand  rebels  killed,  yes, 
left  dead  on  the  field.  "Wasn't  it  glorious  ? 
Wasn't  it  glorious?"  he  exclaimed  rubbing 
his  hands  in  glee. 

''I  see  nothing  glorious  in  shedding  human 
blood,"  replied  Mildred. 

"Don't  you  rejoice  at  hearing  of  the  defeat 
of  the  rebels,  and  that  so  many  thousands  were 
killed?"  inquired  the  clerk. 

"  God  forbid,"  exclaimed  Mildred  with  more 
warmth  than  she  intended  to  manifest,  "  that 
I  should  rejoice  at  the  death  of  any  human 
being." 

"  But  the  rebels  have  got  to  be  killed,  you 
know,  in  order  to  bring  the  war  to  an  end  and 
to  restore  the  Union." 

''  That  may  be  so,"  answered  Mildred,  drawn 
into  a  conversation  in  spite  of  herself,  "but  I 
dislike  to  hear  of  wholesale  murder.  The 
great  God  did  not  put  His  intelligent  creatures 
here  to  butcher  each  other.  I  cannot,  there- 
fore, but  think  that  war  is  a  sin." 

"No  doubt,  the  aggressive  party  is  guilty,' 


204  DEEP   WATEES. 

answered  the  clerk.  "  The  rebels  brought  on 
the  war.  Don't  jou.  think,  then,  that  the 
rebels  are  responsible  for  all  the  blood  that 
has  been,  and  may  be  shed  ? " 

"I  was  speaking  on  general  principles," 
answered  Mildred.  "  It  does  not  become  me  to 
measure  the  degree  of  guilt  that  may  attach  to 
either  party.  It  is  a  sin  to  commit  murder ;  it 
is  a  violation  of  God's  commandment." 

"Is  it,  when  done  in  self-defence?" 

"I  suppose,"  replied  Mildred,  "that  if 
homicide  is  absolutely  necessary  to  the  pres- 
ervation of  one's  life,  it  would  be  justifiable. 
But  in  the  case  of  war,  who  is  to  determine 
which  party  is  lighting  purely  in  self- 
defence?" 

"In   the  present  war,"   said  the   clerk,  "I, 
don't  see  how  there  can  be  any  doubt  about  it. 
The  rebels  fired  the  first  gun,  and  dishonored 
the  flag  of  our  country." 

"  Yet,"  said  Mildred,  "  the  rebels  claim  that 
they  are  fighting  in  self-defence." 

"Do  you  sympathize  with  the  rebels?" 
asked  the  clerk,  looking  narrowly  into  her 
face,  as  though  he  would  read  her  thoughts. 
"  Probably  you  may  be  a  Copper-head?" 

"I  did  not  say  I  sympathized  with  either 
party,"  answered  Mildred  quietly. 


A   BRAVE   GIEL.  205 

''  No  ;  but  one  would  infer  that  you  leaned 
toward  the  rebels." 

"I  do  not  know  upon  what  you  could  base 
such  an  inference,"  rejoined  Mildred,  "for  I 
have  not  used  an  expression  that  could  be 
construed  into  sympathy  for  either  side.  I 
told  you  I  was  speaking  only  on  general  prin- 
ciples." 

"  Do  you  mind  telling  with  which  party  you 
do  sympathize?"  quoth  the  clerk. 

"  I  am  neither  politician,  nor  soldier,  nor  am 
I  regarded  as  a  citizen  by  the  law,"  answered 
Mildred.  "  You  will,  therefore,  please  excuse 
me  from  any  expression  of  opinion  on  this  sub- 
ject.    Why  should  you  wish  to  know  ?  " 

"Why  should  you  mind  expressing  an 
opinion  ? " 

"  It  is  not  necessary,  is  it  ? "  asked  Mildred. 

"  No,  ma'am  ;  it  is  not  a  matter  of  life  or 
death,"  replied  the  smiling  clerk,  "but  I  can 
imagine  no  good  reason  why  you  should  be  so 
extremely  cautious — that  is,  unless  you  have 
come  upon  some  illegal  business. 

For  an  instant  Mildred  seemed  startled  at 
this  insinuation. 

"  I'm  sure  I  asked  a  civil  question,"  said  the 
clerk. 


206  DEEP   WATERS. 

*'  Certainly,"  answered  Mildred  with  a  little 
birdlike  laugh,  intended  toward  off  suspicion, 
"but  I  should  like  to  know  by  what  authority 
you  propound  questions  to  me." 

"  O,"  said  the  clerk,  breaking  into  a  laugh, 
"  I  am  no  court  of  inquisition.  I  questioned 
you  only  by  the  authority  of  social  etiquette. 
It  is  no  breach  of  politeness,  I  hope,  to  ask 
ordinary  questions  in  a  common  conversation. 
We  sometimes  ask  questions  merely  for  the 
sake  of  vivifying  conversation." 

''  The  authority  of  social  etiquette,"  replied 
Mildred,  "  is  sometimes  insolent,  and  even 
ordinary  questions  may  in  times  of  public  dis- 
turbance lead  to  grave  consequences." 

"  I  had  no  intention  of  making  so  serious  a 
matter  of  it,"  said  the  clerk.  "I  asked  the 
question  more  for  the  sake  of  saying  some- 
thing than  anything  else.  Certainly,  if  you 
wish  to  conceal  your  opinions  and  sentiments, 
I'm  no  inquisitor  to  try  to  force  you  to  reveal 
them.  I,  however,  admire  your  prudence, 
since  you  are  a  stranger  in  the  city." 

Mildred  suddenly  laughed  outright. 

"  What  do  you  see  in  my  remark,"  inquired 
the  clerk  very  soberly,  "  to  excite  your  risi- 
bility?" 

"I  was  laughing  at  your  making  so  serious 


A   BRAVE   GIRL.  207 

a  matter  out  of  nothing,"  answered  Mildred. 
"You  speak  of  my  prudence,  asif  I  were  some 
astute  diplomatist  who  had  come  to  Wash- 
ington to  negotiate  a  treaty  of  peace,  or  some 
other  important  business.  The  whole  of  my 
prudence  consists  in  not  directly  answering 
questions  that  might  lead  to  the  discussion  of 
unpleasant  topics." 

"  Why  is  the  war  such  an  unpleasant  sub- 
ject ?"  asked  the  clerk.  "  It  ought  to  be  agree- 
able to  all  loyal  people  to  hear  about  the 
destruction  of  rebels.  I  wish  I  could  kill  some 
of  them  myself." 

"  If  you  have  such  a  blood-thirsty  disposi- 
tion," said  Mildred  a  little  contemptuously, 
"I  think  you  could  easily  find  opportunities 
to  gratify  it." 

''You  may  be  sure,  if  I  could  stand  the 
exposure  which  camp- life  involves,  I  should 
have  gone  out  at  the  first  tap  of  the  drum. 
Besides,  I  have  a  family." 

''  There  are  soldiers  on  both  sides  who  have 
families,"  said  Mildred. 

"I  only  wish  I  had  physical  strength,"  said 
the  clerk.  "  Nothing  would  delight  me  more 
than  to  kill  rebels. 

Mildred  could  not  suppress  a  smile  of  deri- 
sion, for  the  clerk  was  a  large,  well- developed 


208  DEEP   WATERS. 

man,  presenting  every  aspect  of  perfect  health. 
This  exhibition  of  contempt  did  not  escape  his 
notice,  since  he  closely  watched  her  through- 
out the  entire  interview.  He  felt  prevoked  at 
her  insinuations,  but  he  was  too  polite  to  mani- 
fest his  vexation. 

"But  here  comes  the  chamber-maid,"  he 
said,  "who  will  show  you  to  your  room.  I 
hope  you  may  have  a  pleasant  time  in  the  city, 
if  the  business  upon  which  you  have  come  will 
permit  you  to  seek  pleasure." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  I  have  come  upon 
any  business  ?  "  asked  Mildred. 

"  Strangers  generally  have  business,  when 
they  visit  the  city,"  said  the  clerk  significantly, 
as  Mildred  thought.  But  she  concluded  that 
she  would  say  nothing  more.  Rising,  she 
silently  followed  the  chamber-maid.  The  clerk 
walked  back  to  his  desk  in  a  thoughtful  mood ; 
and  this  is  what  was  passing  through  his  mind  : 

"  That  is  one  of  those  proud  Southern 
women,  and  she  is  bent  upon  mischief.  Well, 
if  she  is  not  very  cautious,  I  shall  trap  her  as  I 
have  done  others.  She  seems  to  be  an  intelli- 
gent, accomplished  woman,  but  what  is  she 
doing  here  alone  ?  If  she  is  a  sp3^  as  I  begin 
to  suspect,  and  is  detected,  what  a  fate  awaits 
her !" 


CHAPTER  XII. 


IN    PRISON. 


As  soon  as  tlie  chamber-maid's  footsteps 
had  died  away,  Mildred  locked  the  door,  and 
sat  down  to  think.  Suffering  herself  to  be 
drawn  into  an  interview  with  a  stranger  was 
her  second  blunder,  as  she  now  perceived. 
Why  had  the  clerk  manifested  such  a  sudden 
interest  in  her  affairs  ?  Did  he  not  suspect 
her  ?  What  made  her  so  foolish  as  to  engage 
in  a  conversation  with  him  ?  She  could  not 
but  feel  a  little  uneasy  and  anxious,  and  she 
determined  to  transact  her  business  as  quick- 
ly as  possible,  and  leave  the  city.  As  soon 
as  she  would  rid  herself  of  Gen.  A.'s  message 
she  would  be  out  of  danger.  She  must  find 
Beall  at  once. 

She  then  rose  from  her  seat,  and  looked 
around  the  room,  and  even  under  the  bed. 
She  cast  her  eyes  up  to  the  ceiling,  and  as  she 
did  so  imagined  that  she  heard  a  sudden,  but 
slight  movement  overhead.     A  small  bit  of 

209 


210  DEEP   WATEES. 

plaster  dropped  to  the  floor.  She  at  once 
made  the  discovery  that  about  two  feet  square 
of  the  plaster  had  fallen  off,  or  at  least  was 
gone.  This  fact,  under  ordinary  circumstances, 
would  have  made  no  impression  upon  her 
mind,  but  now  it  awakened  her  suspicions, 
and  she  narrowly  examined  the  unsightly 
blemish.  Why  should  it  not  have  been  re- 
paired ?  But  it  may  have  been  recently  done. 
To  discover  whether  this  might  be  so,  she  ex- 
amined the  carpet  immediately  under  it,  but 
she  saw  only  a  few*  grains  of  sand,  and  the 
little  lamp  that  had  just  fallen.  Perhaps  Sir 
Isaac,  in  the  same  length  of  titne,  did  not 
study  more  profoundly  in  regard  to  the  de- 
scent of  that  famous  apple  which  revolution- 
ized philosophy,  than  Mildred  did  about  that 
insignificant  bit  of  rubbish.  Was  its  fall,  too, 
due  simply  to  the  law  of  gravitation,  or  was  it 
caused  by  some  eavesdropper  ?  After  reflect- 
ing for  some  moments,  a  new  thought  seemed 
suddenly  to  flash  into  her  mind,  for  she  par- 
tially disrobed  herself,  as  if  to  rest,  and  lay 
upon  the  bed,  pretending  to  fall  into  a  deep 
sleep.  She  was,  in  fact,  wide  awake,  listening 
with  all  her  ears.  An  hour  passed  away,  and 
she  arose.     Taking  a  pair  of  small  scissors 


IN  PEISON.  211 

from  her  pocket,  she  cut   a  small  aperture  in 
the  lining  of  her  dress  so   that  she   could  se- 
cure easy  access  to  the  General's  manuscript 
pocket-handkerchief.      This   done,    she   drew 
her  chair  to  the  window  where  she  could  look 
down  upon  the  busy  street.     She  gazed  at  the 
crowds  rushing  along  in  pursuit  of  the  varied 
objects  that  occupy  the  attention  of  the  in- 
habitants of  a  gay  city,  like  the  capital  of  the 
United  States.     She  beheld  officers  of  every 
grade  walking  among  the  throng  with  proud, 
military  step,  who  appeared  to  glory  more  in 
their  magnificent  j^^i^ysique  and  splendid,  spot- 
less uniform,  than  in  the  deeds  of  valor  they 
had  performed  on  the  field  of  battle.     In  this 
gay,  beautiful  city,  she  felt  a  keen  sense  of 
loneliness.     There  was,  so   far  as  she  knew, 
only  one  person  in  all  the  place,  whose  sym- 
pathies were  like  her  own,  and  she  had  no  in- 
timate acquaintance  with  him.     This  person 
was  Capt.  Beall.     She  now  determined  to  find 
him  at  once,  deliver  the  General's  document, 
and  immediately  start  homeward.      Accord- 
ingly,  she  rose  from  her  chair,   donned  her 
cephalic  attire,   and  opened  the  door.      She 
started  back  in  amazement  and  horror  !  There 
stood  before  her  a  policeman,  a  woman,  and 


212  DEEP    WATERS. 

the  head-clerk  with  whom  she  had  conversed 
not  more  than  two  hours  since.  What  awful 
thoughts  now  came  crowding  into  her  mind  ! 
It  is  impossible  to  describe  them.  Persons 
who  have  been  in  similar  situations  remember 
how  active  is  the  mind  in  the  first  moment  of 
surprise.  The  sense  of  danger,  the  line  of  de- 
fence, the  means  of  escape,  all  are  discussed 
in  a  few  seconds.  Thoughts  such  as  these, 
and  a  hundred  others  of  a  different  character, 
flashed  in  the  most  rapid  succession  through 
Mildred's  mind.  Among  other  things  Gen. 
A.'s  cautions  came  vividly  to  her  memory. 
He  had  told  her  how  necessary  is  self-posses- 
sion, and  she  was  now  making  the  most  des- 
perate efforts  to  be  calm.  The  trio  stood 
watching  her  face,  as  she  gazed  steadily  at 
them.  As  they  said  nothing,  she  presently, 
in  a  quiet  tone  broke  the  silence. 

"I  am  patiently  waiting  to  learn  the  object 
of  this  intrusion,"  she  said  with  dignity. 

"  We  are  not  guilty  of  intrusion,"  replied 
the  clerk,  "we  are  merely  standing  before  the 
door." 

''If  that  is  all,"  said  Mildred  calmly, 
"  please  let  me  pass,  and  you  can  enjoy  your 
harmless  pleasure  to  your  heart's  content." 


IN   PEISON-.  213 

''  Not  so  fast,  sarcastic  lady,"  spoke  the 
clerk.  "  You  must  give  a  better  account  of 
yourself  than  you  did  a  while  ago.  I  suspects 
ed  your  disloyalty  to  the  Federal  Government 
sufficiently  to  induce  me  to  make  an  effort  to 
ascertain  if  my  suspicions  were  correct." 

"  What  effort  do  you  propose  to  make  ?  " 

"  Would  you  object  to  being  searched?  " 

"For  what?"  asked  Mildred  with  inward 
trepidation,  as  she  perceived  treachery  grad- 
ually unfolding.  For  one  moment  the  most 
bitter  hatred  toward  that  deceptive  clerk 
sprang  up  in  her  heart,  and  she  felt  that  she 
could  have  taken  his  life.  But  it  was  only 
for  a  moment. 

"  We  wish  to  see  if  you  have  anything  con- 
traband," replied  the  clerk. 

"  I  suppose  you  intend  to  search  me  any- 
how, whether  I  consent  or  not  ?  " 

"  We  don't  like  to  resort  to  force,"  answered 
the  clerk,  "  and  we  hope  you'll  readily  give 
your  consent.  Indeed,  a  willingness  on  your 
part  to  submit  will  be  taken  as  evidence  of 
your  loyalty  to  the  government." 

"  I  do  not  see  it  in  that  light,"  said  Mildred 
as  quietly  as  possible.  "What  have  I  done 
to  arouse  your  suspicions  ?  " 


214  DEEP  WATEES. 

"  That  does  not  matter,  lady,"  replied  tlie 
clerk.  "  I  have  no  feeling  of  malice  toward 
yon.  I  sincerely  hope  that  I  am  mistaken, 
and  that  yon  may  prove  as  innocent  of  any 
sinister  intentions  towards  the  government  as 
the  angels  of  heaven.  I  was  prepossessed  in 
your  favor  by  your  general  appearance  and 
your  conversation.  But  if  you  have  come  to 
the  city  with  any  dark  purpose,  it  is  but  nat- 
ural that  you  should  oppose  being  searched." 

"  Can  you  not  see,"  asked  Mildred,  speak- 
ing slowly,  "that  it  is  a  personal  indignity  to 
be  subjected  to  a  search  ?  " 

"  Not  in  such  times  as  these,"  said  the  clerk. 
"  It  is  generall}^  the  case,  that,  when  innocent 
people  are  suspected,  they  demand  an  inves- 
tigation, instead  of  shrinking  from  it." 

''That  depends  upon  circumstances,"  re- 
plied Mildred  coolly.  She  was  endeavoring 
to  prolong  the  conversation  as  much  as  pos- 
sible in  order  to  think  what  was  best  to  be 
done.  If  she  could  avoid  this  search,  she 
would  be  safe.  A  score  of  schemes  rapidly 
presented  themselves  during  these  few  mo- 
ments. She  thought  of  bribery;  but  that 
would  be  an  acknowledgment  of  guilt.  If 
there  had  been  a  tire  in  the  room,  she  would 


IN  PRISOTT.  215 

have  hastily  thrown  the  dangerous  kerchief 
into  it ;  in  that  case  all  that  the  authorities 
could  do  would  be  to  imprison  her  for  a  while 
as  a  suspicious  character.  But  there  was  no 
fire,  and  she  did  not  have  even  a  match.  If 
Mildred  had  only  known  it,  all  her  scheming 
was  to  no  purpose,  for  she  had  been  watched. 
That  wiry,  pert  little  woman,  one  of  the  trio 
had  been  in  the  room  over-head,  which  had 
been  prepared  for  suspicious  characters. 
When  Mildred  had  suddenly  looked  up  to  the 
ceiling,  in  her  examination  of  the  room,  the 
woman  involuntarily  drew  back,  and  in  so 
doing  had  caused  the  lump  of  loose  plaster 
to  fall.  She  saw  Mildred  make  the  rent  in 
the  dress,  and  that  was  enough.  Mildred  at 
last  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  would  be 
advisable  to  submit  with  the  best  grace  pos- 
sible, and  trust  to  Providence  for  protection. 
Sending  up  a  silent,  but  earnest  prayer,  she 
said  : 

''  I  suppose  you  have  brought  this  lady  to 
dothewoik?  If  so,  it  is  useless  to  discuss 
the  matter.     So  proceed." 

"  That  is  right,"  said  the  clerk.  "  You  can 
both  go  into  the  room,  and  close  the  door. 
This  officer  and  myself  will  await  the  result 
in  the  hall,  here." 


216  DEEP   WATEE8. 

Accordingly  the  little  woman,  with  eyes,  as 
Mildred  thought,  keen  enough  to  see  through 
a  mill-stone,  entered  the  apartment,  and  closed 
the  door. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  wish,"  asked  Mildred. 

"  Let  me  have  your  dress  first,  please." 

"  You  wish  me  to  take  it  off?  " 

•'Yes,  take  it  off." 

"  What  do  you  expect  to  find  ?  "  asked  Mil- 
dred. "  You  can  feel  the  dress  anywhere, 
and  you  will  discover  no  papers." 

"  Take  it  off,  said  the  woman  sharply.  "  I 
don't  know  what  I  will  find.  I'll  show  you 
when  I  am  through  searching." 

Mildred  deliberately  removed  the  garment, 
and  while  so  doing,  made  two  or  three  unsuc- 
cessful attempts  to  withdraw  the  treacherous 
kerchief  unobserved ;  but  the  diminutive 
woman  was  watching  with  an  Argus-eyed 
vigilance  that  would  have  instantly  detected 
any  suspicious  manipulation.  The  little  lady 
took  it,  turned  it  inside  out,  and  stretched  it 
upon  the  bed.  In  an  instant  her  keen  eyes 
fell  upon  the  fatal  rent.  Mildred  felt  a  chok- 
ing  sensation  when  she  perceived  the  nimble 
fingers  deftly  close  upon  the  General's  hand- 
kerchief. 


ITT  PEISOTT.  217 

"  O,  heaven  !  what  shall  I  do  ? "  was  her 
inward  exclamation  as  she  saw  the  kerchief 
quickly  jerked  out.  She  felt  a  sickening  sen- 
sation creeping  over  her.  She  tried  hard  to 
preserve  her  equanimity.  "Would  falsehood 
avail  in  this  instance  ?  or  should  she  tell  the 
truth,  and  meet  death  with  Christian  resigna- 
tion? 

"  Ah !  what  is  this  ? "  exclaimed  the  little 
woman,  holding  up  the  kerchief  by  two  cor- 
ners, and  gazing  at  it  with  a  most  provoking 
air  of  triumph. 

Mildred's  first  impulse  was  to  snatch  the 
terrible  document  from  her  hands,  and  thrust 
it  in  the  fire,  but  alas  1  there  was  no  fire  in 
the  room. 

"It  may  be  some  old  rag,"  saidMildred  in  a 
hoarse,  trembling  voice,  ' '  put  in  to  thicken 
the  lining."  It  was  the  first  time  in  her  life 
that  she  had  practiced  prevarication,  and  the 
words  seemed  to  blister  her  tongue. 

"Hardly  probable,"  said  the  Lilliputian 
lady  with  an  ironical  smile.  "  Hardly  prob- 
able ;  it  is  almost  new,  don't  you  see  ?  But  I 
will  give  it  to  Mr.  Twombly,  and  let  him  ex- 
amine it  while  I  continue  the  work." 

Accordingly,  she  opened  the  door,  gave  the 


218  DEEP   WATERS. 

kerchief  to  the  clerk,  and  resumed  the  search. 
But  a  half  hour's  further  investigation  re- 
vealed nothing  else  of  a  suspicious  character. 
The  woman  said : 

•"  Well,  unless  that  handkerchief  contains 
evidences  of  disloyalty  you  will  go  free.  Put 
on  your  clothing.     I  will  assist  you." 

In  a  little  time  Mildred  was  again  present- 
able, and  the  door  being  re-opened,  the  two 
men  entered  without  ceremony.  The  little 
woman  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  That's  the  only  suspicious  article  I've 
been  able  to  discover." 

"And  that  is  enough,"  said  the  clerk. 
"  Alas  !  young  lady,  we  are  forced  to  arrest 
you  as  a  spy.     I  am  sorry  for  you." 

''  I  do  not  need  your  sympathy,"  said  Mil- 
dred indignantly.  "  I  would  rather  be  any- 
thing than  a  detestable  informer,  showing  a 
*  Devil's  purpose  with  an  angel's  face' — sneak- 
ing among  your  unsuspecting  guests,  smiling 
and  fawning  upon  them  in  order  to  convert 
their  blood  into  gold.  '  I'd  rather  be  a  dog 
and  bay  the  moon  than  such  a  Roman.'  Yes, 
I'd  rather  die  a  thousand  times  than  act  the 
base  part  of  a  contemptible  hypocrite." 

"Highl    wrathful    lady,"     exclaimed    the 


IN  PRISON.  219 

clerk  without  betraying  any  symptoms  of 
vexation  and  annoyance  /'  how  can  you  blame 
me  for  discharging  my  duty  to  my  country  ? " 

"  Don't  you  remember  that  King  Philip 
said  he  loved  the  treason,  but  despised  the 
traitor  ?  That  is  the  case  with  your  masters  ; 
they  love  your  treachery,  but  they  hate  you. 
Every  honest  man  heartily  execrates  a  cold- 
blooded, villainous  informer,"  cried  the  en- 
raged Mildred. 

"  IS'evertheless,  young  lady,"  coolly  said 
the  clerk,  "  it  is  our  duty  to  arrest  you  as  a 
spy." 

"I  am  no  spy,"  exclaimed  Mildred.  "I 
have  not  come  to  Washington  to  find  out  any- 
thing of  a  military  character.  I  call  God  to 
witness  that  I  have  not  come  here  for  any 
such  purpose." 

"  Why,  don't  you  know  the  contents  of  this 
document  ? "  asked  the  clerk. 

"  God  in  heaven,  who  sees  me,  knows  that 
I  never  read  a  single  word,  or  syllable  of  it." 

"  Then,"  said  the  clerk  in  surprise,  "  you 
know  not  what  a  dangerous  handkerchief 
you  have  been  carrying." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  knew  it  was  attended  with  some 
sort  of  danger,  but  T   do  emphatically  deny 


220  DEEP   WATEES. 

being  a  spy.  All  I  had  to  do  was  to  deliver 
the  handkerchief  to  a  certain  person,  and  go 
back  home." 

"  And  that  person  is  named  here,"  replied 
the  clerk.  "I  wouldn't  given  a  snap  of  my 
finger  for  his  life." 

Mildred  turned  pale  on  hearing  this,  and  on 
re-calling  the  fact  that  General  A.  had  told 
here  that  if  she  were  detected,  a  third  party 
would  be  compromised. 

"  Notwithstanding  your  unneccessary  abuse 
of  myself,"  said  the  clerk,  "I  hope  your 
excuse  will  be  considered  sufiicient  to  procure 
your  release.  Your  friends  have  made  a  mere 
tool  of  you  for  the  accomplishment  of  their 
own  purpose.  But  I  must  take  you  to  head- 
quarters. If  you  will  promise  to  go  along 
quietly,  I  will  accompany  you  myself ;  if  you 
are  not,  I  will  turn  you  over  to  the  police." 

"  I  will  go  with  you,"  said  Mildred,  who  was 
now  ready  almost  to  faint. 

The  clerk  and  Mildred  descended  to  the 
street,  and  entered  a  passing  hack.  In  a  few 
moments  they  alighted  at  the  head- quarters  of 

Q-en. ,  to  whom  the  clerk  delivered  the 

handkerchief.    He  read  it  over  twice  and  said : 

"A  pretty  kettle  of  fish  is  this!  Are  you 
the  bearer  of  this,  young  lady  ?  " 


IN  PRisoisr.  221 

"  I  am,  sir." 

"  She  had  it  carefully  concealed  in  her  cloth- 
ing, General,"  spoke  up  the  clerk.  "I  sus- 
pected her,  and  had  her  watched." 

"  You  have  done  your  country  a  great  ser- 
vice," replied  the  General.  "  Have  you  arrested 
the  other  party  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  thought  it  best  to  deliver  that 
article  to  you  first.  " 

"  Very  well,"  answered  the  General.  ''  I 
thank  you  heartily  for  what  yon  have  done. 
Now,  young  lady,"  continued  the  General, 
turning  his  attention  to  Mildred  who  was  pale 
but  calm,  "how  came  you  with  this  docu- 
ment?" 

Mildred  had  concocted  a  falsehood  which 
might  have  obscured  her  connection  with  the 
afiair  with  a  shadow  of  dubitation.  But  in 
early  life  the  little  story  of  George  Washing- 
ton and  the  cherry  tree  had  made  a  deep, 
inefiaceable  impression  upon  her  mind,  and 
neither  could  she  "  tell  a  lie."  If  she  spoke  at 
all,  she  determined  to  tell  the  truth,  let  the 
consequences  be  what  they  might.  So  she 
answered : 

"I  brought  it  to  a  certain  person  in  this 
city." 


222  DEEP  WATEES. 

''  What  is  Ms  name  ? " 

"  I  cannot  cell,"  she  replied.  ''  You  can  do 
as  you  please  with  me,  but  I  shall  not  com- 
promise others." 

"It  does  not  matter,"  replied  the  General. 
''  His  name  is  Beall.  I  shall  have  him  arrested 
in  an  hour  or  so.  He  is  an  important  charac- 
ter, it  seems.  Do  you  not  know,  lady,  that 
you  are  acting  the  spy  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.    I  deny  being  a  spy." 

"  I  pity  your  ignorance,"  replied  the  officer. 
"  You  are  exactly  in  the  attitude  of  a  spy. 
The  penalty — do  you  know  what  it  is  ? " 

"  Death,  is  it  not  ?  "  replied  Mildred  calmly. 

"  Death,  and  death  by  hanging." 

"O,  General!"  exclaimed  Mildred,  whose 
feelings  were  alternating  between  trepidation 
and  tranquility.  "  Can  you  not  pardon  me 
when  I  was  ignorant  that  I  was  acting  in  such 
a  capacity  ? " 

"  I  never  knew  a  spy  to  be  pardoned,"  said 
the  General  thoughtfully.  "There  was  uni- 
versal sympathy  for  the  unfortunate  Major 
Andre,  and  Washington  would  have  saved 
him,  if  possible.  But  the  law  is  inexorable. 
I  have  no  power  to  do  anything.  You  will 
have  to  be  tried  by  a  military  court,  and  you 


IN  PEisoisr.  223 

can  easily  imagine  what  will  be  the  result. 
A  spy  always  takes  his  life  in  his  hands,  well 
knowing  the  consequences  of  detection.  If 
you  are  ignorant  of  these  consequences,  I  am 
truly  sorry  for  you.  You  will,"  he  continued, 
turning  to  the  clerk,  "give  the  lady  a  room  in 
your  hotel,  and  I  will  send  a  guard  to  stand  at 
the  door  to  prevent  escape.  I  do  not  care  to 
send  so  elegant  a  lady  to  a  common  prison. 
Give  her  a  room  from  which  there  is  no  prac- 
ticable egress  except  through  the  door." 

"I  understand,  General,"  replied  the  clerk. 
"  The  corner  room  of  the  fourth  story  is  per 
fectly  safe." 

"  General,"  said  Mildred  who  had  been  try- 
ing to  be  brave,  *'  may  I  write  to  my  parents  ?" 

If  the  officer  had  spoken  harshly,  she  could 
have  borne  her  misfortune  more  courageously, 
but  he  spoke  kindly,  and  the  womanish  heart 
would  betray  itself.  Under  such  circumstances, 
without  tears,  she  would  have  been  untrue  to 
her  sex.  The  General  was  touched,  as  nearly 
all  men  are,  by  the  sight  of  a  beautiful  woman 
down  whose  cheeks  are  flowing  the  evidences 
of  her  distress.  When  the  grim  old  General 
looked  at  the  innocent  truth-telling  face  of  this 
magnanimous  girl,  upon  whose  features  God 


224  DEEP   WATERS. 

had  stamped  the  seal  of  honesty,  and  especially 
when  she  broke  down  at  the  thought  of  the 
distress  of  her  parents,  and  Ernest,  all  the 
better  feelings  of  his  heart  were  touched.  His 
chivalry  prompted  him  to  release  her,  but  the 
claims  of  duty  were  paramount.  He,  at  the 
time,  thought  that  surely  no  court-martial 
would  deal  with  her  as  with  one  of  the 
"rougher  sex."  Her  innocence,  beauty,  and 
intelligence  would  be  her  defense,  and,  under 
all  circumstances,  would  be  a  greater  protec- 
tion than  a  Eoman  shield.  He,  therefore, 
replied : 

''  Certainly,  you  may.  This  gentleman," 
turning  to  the  clerk,  "  will  see  that  you  have 
everything  that  you  want.  Remember,  sir, 
she  is  a  lady,  and  treat  her  accordingly." 

"  She  herself  will  testify.  General,  that  I  have 
extended  to  her  the  treatment  which  every 
lady  deserves,  notwithstanding  the  fact,  that 
she  abused  me  roundly  for  simply  discharging 
my  duty." 

When  they  again  entered  the  hack,  such  a 
sense  of  the  awfulness  of  her  situation  came 
over  Mildred  that  she  covered  her  face,  and 
sobbed  audibly.  Her  woman  nature  strongly 
asserted  itself,  and  she  yielded.    For  the  first 


IN  PEisoN.  225 

time  a  sense  of  shame  reddened  the  cheeks  of 
the  clerk,  sitting  silent  in  front  of  her. 

"  Confound  it,"  said  he  to  himself,  '^  what 
great  deed  have  I  done  ?  She  is  nothing  but 
an  innocent  girl,  ignorant  of  her  own  danger. 
If  it  were  some  sharp  man,  I  might  feel  self- 
complacent.  The  man  to  whom  she  was  to 
deliver  that  handkerchief  is  really  the  guilty 
party.  But  it  is  too  late  now.  I  must  obey 
orders." 

They  soon  reached  the  hotel,  and  in  ten 
minutes  Mildred  found  herself  in  the  corner 
room  of  the  fourth  story.  And  she  sat  down, 
and  wept  bitterly. 


CHAPTER  Xin. 


A  DESPERATE  MAN. 

The  army  to  which  Ernest  belonged  was  en- 
camped on  the  banks  of  the  historical  river 

.     The  year  was  drawing  to  a  close.   To 

Ernest  the  days  dragged  heavily  by,  as  there 
are  few  amusements  ip  military  camps  that 
are  sufficient  to  divert  one's  mind  from  intro- 
spectional  processes.  It  was  this  prolonged 
subjectivity — this  constant  brooding  over  one's 
own  thoughts,  inseparable  from  camp  life,  that 
produced  ennui,  or  more  frequently,  that 
exquisite  nostalgia^  which  often  terminated 
in  death.  Ernest  had  kept  up  a  regular  cor- 
respondence with  Mildred,  which  occupied 
much  of  his  time,  and  made  his  own  thoughts 
pleasant  companions.  She  had  not  written  a 
word  in  regard  to  her  visits  to  Washington, 
and  he,  of  course,  supposed  that  she  was  at 
home. 

One  morning  a  letter  was  delivered  to  him. 
post-marked  from  Mildred's  office,  but  directed 

226 


A  DESPEEATE   MAN.  227 

in  a  chirograpliy  which  was  not  hers.  This 
circumstance  at  once  aroused,  in  his  mind,  the 
most  fearful  apprehensions.  He  thouglit  of  a 
hundred  calamities,  in  a  few  moments,  that 
might  have  overtaken  her — probably  she  had 
suddenly  died — she  might  be  sick — she  had 
married  some  one — the  enemy  had  made  a  raid 
and  carried  off  the  whole  family,  and  this 
thought  made  him  clench  his  hand  and  grind 
his  teeth.  Why  did  he  not  open  the  epistle  at 
once,  and  end  his  suspense  ?  Because  he  was 
endeavoring  to  prepaj"e  his  mind  for  the  re- 
ception of  distressing  news,  like  a  man  who 
sees  the  avalanche  coming,  and  braces  himself 
against  the  nearest  rock  that  promises  to  offer 
successful  resistance  against  the  coming 
shock.  The  first  Lieutenant  of  his  company 
was  in  the  tent,  to  whom  Ernest,  holding  up 
the  letter,  said : 

"  I  fear  this  will  put  an  end  to  all  my  fondly 
cherished  hopes." 

''Is  it  from  lierf^^  inquired  the  Lieutenant. 

*'No,  not  from  her,"  said  Ernest,  "but  it 
bears  the  post-mark  of  her  office." 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  open  it? " 

"  Because  it  appears  to  me  like  a  Pandora's 
box,  and  I  dread  the  evils  it  contains." 


228  DEEP  WATEES. 

"  Hope  was  left  beliind,  you  know." 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  fear  that  hope,  in  this  instance, 
will  be  the  first  to  wing  her  flight  away  from 
me,"  said  Ernest. 

"  Never  climb  the  hill  till  you  get  to  it," 
said  the  Lieutenant.  "  Why  allow  yourself  to 
suff'er  the  pangs  of  imaginary  evils  ? 

"It  is  foolish.  Lieutenant." 

Ernest  slowly  opened  the  envelope,  took 
out  the  folded  sheet,  and  glanced  at  the  sub- 
scriber's signature.  It  was  from  Dr.  Arrington. 
The  Lieutenant  noticed  that  a  deathly  pallor 
spread  over  his  face,  and  his  hands  trembled 
violently,  but  he  said  nothing  till  Ernest  had 
finished  the  letter.  He  was  transformed  into 
the  very  embodiment  of  despair. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  kindly  and  anxious- 
1}^  asked  the  Lieutenant,  his  personal  friend. 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  Ernest  almost  groaned  out. 
"  There,  read  for  yourself." 

The  Lieutenant,  carefully  read  Dr.  Arring- 
ton's  account  of  the  arrest  and  imprisonment 
of  his  daughter. 

"It  is  terrible  news,"  said  the  Lieutenant, 
"and  there  is  no  use  disguising  it.  Yet  as 
long  as  there  is  life,  there  is  hope." 

"Oh!  Great  Heavens!"  exclaimed  Ernest, 


A   DESPEEATE   MAN.  229 

springing  to  his  feet,  "  the  villains  may  have 
already  executed  her!  You  know  hovr 
hurriedly  they  do  these  things.  If  they  have 
— ,"  shaking  his  head  and  grinding  his 
teeth — '-If  they  have,  I  will  be  avenged.  Yes, 
they  shall  pay  for  her  blood.  I  shall  have 
only  one  object  to  live  for — to  avenge  her 
death.  In  the  next  battle,  Lieutenant,  I  desire 
you  to  command  the  company.  I  want  a  gun — I 
must  have  a  gun.  I  cannot  stand  still  while 
there  will  be  such  opportunities  for  spilling 
their  blood.  Yes,  sir,  I  will  make  them  pay 
dearly  for  such  shameful,  diabolical  murder." 

''Now,  come,  my  friend,"  said  the  Lieutenant, 
"  you  will  try  to  ascend  the  mountain  before 
you  reach  it.  Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the 
evil  thereof.  You  have  no  proof  whatever 
that  the  execution  has  taken  place,  and  your 
surmises  may  be  without  the  shadow  of 
foundation.  Besides,  you  are  a  Christian — a 
follower  of  the  meek  and  lowly  Lamb,  who 
when  He  was  reviled,  reviled  not  again.  Does 
it  become  you  to  be  talking  of  revenge? 
'Vengeance  is  mine,'  saith  the  Lord.  You 
must  not  murmur  at  the  dispensations  of 
divine  providence." 

"  What !  "  interrupted  Ernest,  "  do  you  call 


230  DEEP   WATERS. 

this  a  dispensation  of  providence?  Do  you 
believe  that  God  would  deliberately  bring 
about  such  a  dreadful  event  as  that  ?" 

"  Why  not  that  as  well  as  any  other  event? 
Don't  you  believe  that  God  has  sometbing  to 
do  with  this  war  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  He  has,  in  a  sort  of  general 
way." 

"  General  way  ?"  exclaimed  the  Lieutenant. 
"Why,  generalities  are  made  up  of  particulars. 
How  can  there  be  a  general  providence,  as 
some  peojile  call  it,  without  special  acts  ? 
Well,  this  misfortune  of  yours,  as  you  regard 
it,  is  one  of  the  events  of  the  war.  It  is  not  a 
mere  accident." 

"  Do  you  pretend  to  sa}^,"  asked  Ernest  in 
an  agitated  manner,  "that  God  selected  my 
loved  one  especially  for  the  purpose  of  being 
sacrificed?    Do  you  say  that?" 

"  Why  not  her  as  well  as  anybody  else, 
granting  your  premises  ?  But  you  are  a  little 
too  fast,  my  friend.  You  have  no  reliable  in- 
formation that  she  has  been  sacrificed.  You're 
assuming  too  much." 

"  She  will  be  treated  as  a  spy,"  said  Ernest, 
"and  you  know  what  that  means.  I  can  never 
forgive  Gen.  A.  for  inveigling  her  into  such  an 


A  DESPEEATE   MA:N^.  231 

affair.     Why    did  lie   not  get  me,   or   some 
other  man  to  go  ? " 

"You  do  not  know  what  Gen.  A.'s  reasons 
were,"  said  the  Lieutenant.  "Captain,  you  need 
to  be  taught  a  lesson  of  humility,  if  you  will 
pardon  me  for  saying  it.  God  saj^s,  '  love 
your  enemies,'  and  here  you  are,  wishing  to 
murder  yours,  and  are  manifesting  an  unfor- 
giving spirit  even  toward  your  friends.  I  be- 
lieve you  are  a  Christian,  but  I  fear  you  will 
have  to  be  chastened  by  sorrow  and  suffering. 
You  would  better  ask  God  to  give  you  meek- 
ness of  spirit  and  resignation  to  His  will,  be- 
fore you  are  made  to  bow  by  calamities.  Your 
rebellion  will  be  punished.  The  Scripture 
says,  'iWhom  the  Lordloveth,  He  chasteneth.') 
Submit,  before  a 'worse  thing  happen  unto 
thee.' " 

"  It  is  difficult  for  me  to  believe  just  as  you 
do,"  answered  Ernest  in  a  gentler  tone.  "You 
belong  to  the  Presbyterian  Church  that  holds 
to  the  doctrine  that  God  ordains  whatsoever 
comes  to  pass.  I  confess  that  I  am  disposed 
to  believe  the  theory,  but  somehow  I  cannot 
bring  it  into  the  practical  affairs  of  life." 

"  You  remember  what  Nebuchadnezzar  was 
punished  for?"   asked  the    Lieutenant.     "It 


232  DEEP   WATEES. 


was  for  denying  the  Divine  Sovereignty.  God 
punishes  men  for  the  same  offence  now.  He 
tells  us  He  is  a  jealous  God ;  He  demands  that 
we  shall  recognize  His  hand  in  all  our  affairs." 

"  I  wish  I  could  fully  and  firmly  believe  as 
you  do,"  said  Ernest  thoughtfully.  "  I  can  see 
that  the  doctrines  of  the  Presbyterian  Church 
are  better  adapted  to  the  necessities  of  man's 
nature  than  those  of  any  other  Church.  I 
notice  too,  that  Presbyterians  seem  to  bear  up 
under  misfortunes  better  than  other  people. 
And  this  I  must  attribute  to  the  comfort  they 
find  in  their  doctrines." 

"  There  is  much  truth  in  what  you  say,"  re- 
plied the  Lieutenant.  "  1  was  not  reared  a 
Presbyterian,  but  after  I  was  grown,  I  was  par- 
ticularly struck  with  their  quiet  way  of  doing 
things — a  way  destitute  of  boisterous  zeal  and 
ostentatious  fussiness.  Then  when  I  investi- 
gated their  doctrines,  I  found  them  Scriptural. 
I  confess  I  do  not  see  how  any  man  can  fail  to 
believe  these  doctrines,  with  the  Bible  in  his 
hands.  Do  you  not  think  that  the  doctrine 
of  the  Divine  Sovereignty  is  taught  in  the 
Bible  ?" 

"It  does  seem  to  be,"  said  Ernest;  "but 
this  doctrine  of  election  does  not,  at  times, 
appear  to  be  consistent  with  justice." 


A  DESPEEATE   MAN.  233 

"  Where  is  the  inconsistency  ?  " 

"  Why,  that  Jesus  died  for  some  men,  and 
left  the  rest  of  mankind  to  perish  in  their  sins, 
and  then  to  hold  these  men  responsible  for 
what  the}^  could  not  help." 

"  Who  advocates  such  a  view  as  that  ? " 
asked  the  Lieutenant,  who  was  a  pious  and 
intelligent  member  of  the  Presbyterian  Church. 

"  Why,  do  not  you  Presbyterians  believe 
that  ? " 

"  No,  sir ;  we  believe  that  Christ  tasted  death 
for  every  man,  as  the  Scriptures  declare. 
He  made  an  atonement  sufficient  to  save  every 
son  and  daughter  of  Adam.  No  man  is  lost 
on  account  of  any  limitation  or  defect  in  the 
atonement,  nor  on  account  of  an  eternal  de- 
cree. All  could  be  saved,  if  they  only  had  the 
will.  It  is  nothing  but  the  perverse  will  in 
men  that  prevents  their  salvation.  But  I 
should  like  to  ask  what  you  believe  in  regard 
to  the  atonement  ?  You  may  as  well  be  think- 
ing about  this  as  brooding  over  your  troubles." 

"  Yes  ;  let  us  have  a  discussion — anything 
to  keep  my  mind  off  this  misfortune  till  I  am 
prepared  to  think  calmly  about  it.  In  reply, 
then,  to  your  inquiry,  I  say  I  scarcely  know 
what  to  think.     It  would  seem  reasonable  to 


234  DEEP   WATERS. 

me,  tliougli,  that  Christ  died  for  all  precisely 
alike — for  one  just  as  much  as  another.  All 
were  on  the  same  level.  By  His  death  He  re- 
moved the  obstacles  placed  in  the  way  by 
original  sin  or  Adam's  transgression.  He 
thus  made  salvation  possible  to  all  men. 
Christ  provided  the  means,  and  left  it  to  man's 
choice  whether  he  would  use  the  means  or  not. 
That  would  seem  just  and  right." 

"So  it  might  at  the  first  glance,"  answered 
the  Lieutenant,  "  and  it  is  the  way  men  would 
like  to  have  it.  Nothing  could  be  more  agree- 
able to  the  carnal  heart.  But  let  us  calmly 
examine  your  position.  You  think  then  that 
Jesus  died  for  no  individual  in  particular,  but 
for  the  whole  race  of  men  in  general  ? " 

"  That  seems  to  be  reasonable,"  replied 
Ernest,  "  and  no  one  could  complain." 

"  Yes,  reasonable  according  to  man's  no- 
tions," rejoined  the  Lieutenant,  "and  according 
to  the  principles  of  mere  human  philosophy. 
But  the  main  objection  to  it,  is  that  it  is  in 
diametrical  opposition  to  the  Scriptures.  For 
they  emphatically  declare  that  Christ  gave 
Himself  for  the  Church.  All  through  the  New 
Testament  we  find  such  expressions  as  '  died 
for  His  people.'     Jesus,   Himself  repeatedly 


A   DESPERATE   MAN.  235 

spoke  of  '  His  people '  for  whom  He  would 
give  His  life." 

"  But  does  not  the  Bible  say  '  He  was  made 
a  propitiation  not  only  for  our  sins,  but  for  the 
sins  of  the  whole  world?"  What  does  that 
mean  ?  " 

''  Well,  suppose  Christ  had  not  died  at  all, 
how  many  would  have  been  saved  ?  " 

^'N^one  at  all,"  said  Ernest. 

"  Then  the  answer  is  that  Jesus  died  suffi- 
ciently for  all  the  world,  but  effectually  for 
His  own  people.  He  made  such  an  atonement 
that  every  one  could  be  saved  who  wanted  to 
be.  And  this  is  the  meaning  of  every  passage 
of  Scripture  whxh  is  similar  to  the  one  cited 
b}^  you." 

"  But,"  asked  Ernest,  "  what  was  the  use  of 
djdng  sufficiently  for  all,  when  it  was  known 
that  all  would  not  be  saved  ?  " 

"  Christ  had  to  die  for  the  elect,"  replied 
the  Lieutenant, "  and  in  so  doing  He  died  suffi- 
ciently to  save  the  entire  world.  If  the  atone- 
ment is  sufficient  to  save  all,  that  throws  the 
responsibility  of  the  damnation  of  those  who 
are  lost  upon  themselves.  But  how  much 
broader  do  yow  want  the  atonement,  if  it  takes 
in  all  who  want  to  be  saved?    Why  should 


236  DEEP  WATEES. 

you  want  Christ  to  make  an  effectual  atone- 
ment for  those  who  do  not  want  to  be  saved  ?  " 

"  I  confess  that  is  a  puzzling  question,"  an- 
swered Ernest. 

"  Besides,"  continued  the  Lieutenant,  "  your 
position  is  contrary  to  sound  philosophy." 

^'  How  is  that  ?  " 

"  You  say  it  is  left  to  men  to  choose  their 
own  destinies.  Now  suppose  that  not  one  of 
the  human  race  had  accepted  Christ,  would 
not  the  atonement  have  been  a  failure?  "Would 
not  Jesus  have  died  in  vain  ?  " 

"It  does  seem  so,"  said  Ernest. 

"Do  you  suppose,"  continued  the  Lieutenant, 
"  that  the  Lord  was  trying  experiments  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ? " 

"  I  mean  this,"  answered  the  Lieutenant.  "  if 
God  was  experimenting,  He  virtually  said : 
'Son,  go  into  the  world,  and  make  an  atonement 
for  the  sins  of  all  mankind  ;  perhaps,  some  may 
avail  themselves  of  the  provisions  of  this 
scheme  which  we  have  adopted,  but  we  do  not 
know  that  a  single  individual  will  be  saved.' 
Do  you  not  suppose  that  God  had  some  defi- 
nite purpose  to  accomplish  in  the  atonement? 
If  not.  He  was  less  wise  th^n  men  are.  Even 
we,  weak  human  beings,  never  go  to  work 
without  some  plan  and  some  object." 


A   DESPEEATE   MAN.  237 

"  Of  course,"  said  Ernest,  "I  admit  that  God 
had  a  definite  purpose  in  view." 

"  Do  you  not  believe  that  God's  purpose  will 
be  achieved?"  asked  the  Lieutenant. 

"Certainly,  it  will." 

"  Then,"  said  the  Lieutenant,  "  if  the  Lord 
intended  to  save  all  men,  why  are  they  not 
saved  ? " 

"  Because  they  will  not  be." 

"  You  are  then  driven  to  the  conclusion," 
replied  the  Lieutenant,  "  that  men  are  more 
powerful  than  God.  He  wants  to  save  them,  and 
intends  to  save  them,  but  they  will  not  allow 
Him.     They  defeat  God's  intentions." 

''  No  ;  I  do  nod  mean  that  exactly,"  said 
Ernest. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"Why,"  answered  Ernest,  "I  mean  that 
God  made  equal  provisions  for  all,  and  deter- 
mined to  treat  all  alike." 

"  Then  all  the  plan  you  admit  was,  that 
Christ  made  a  sort  of  general  atonement,  but 
determined  nothing  in  regard  to  the  salvation  of 
any  particular  individual  ?  It  was  not  certain 
that  any  would  be  saved  ? " 

"  0,  of  course.  He  knew  that  some  would  be 
saved,  and  some  lost." 


238  DEEP   WATERS. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Lieutenant,  "He  knew 
that  some  would  be  saved,  and  some  lost — just 
put  it  on  that  ground ;  now,  Christ  died  effectu- 
ally for  those  who  He  knew  would  be  saved, 
and  yet  sufficiently  to  save  those  who  He 
knew  would  be  lost ;  and  this  is  the  election 
which  my  Church  advocates,  that  is,  leaving 
out  fore-knowledge  as  the  ground  upon  which 
the  scheme  of  redemption  is  based ;  for  God's 
choice  of  the  elect  does  not  depend  upon  any- 
thing in  the  creature.  But  I  am  showing  that 
your  own  position  leads  to  a  kind  of  predes- 
tination. Do  you  not  see  that  your  position 
also  rans  into  the  broadest  universalism  ?  " 

"  How  does  it  ?  "  asked  Ernest. 

"  Why,  your  idea  is,  that  God,  to  be  impar- 
tial, must  treat  all  alike — give  all  the  same 
opportunities,  and  bring  the  same  influences 
to  bear  upon  all.  Now  let  us  see  how  that 
will  work.  Mr.  A.  is  convinced  by  the  Holy 
Spirit,  and  is  converted,  as  we  may  say  :  he  is 
saved  ;  Mr.  B.  his  neighbor,  must  be  treated  in 
the  same  way,  or  God  would  be  partial." 

"God  gives  both  the  same  opportunities," 
said  Ernest,  "  but  one  resists  and  the  other 
yields." 

"  Then,"  said   the  Lieutenant,  "  you   have 


A   DESPERATE   MAN.  239 

mankind  divided  into  two  classes — one  resists, 
and  is  certain  to  be  lost,  and  the  other  yields, 
and  is  certain  to  be  saved.  What  is  that  but 
predestination  ? " 

''  I  mean,"  said  Ernest,  "  that  God  gives 
each  class  sufficient  grace  to  save  them,  if  they 
would  use  it." 

''  It  is  well,"  replied  the  Lieutenant,  "that 
you  brought  in  that '  if.'  Certainly,  '  if '  they 
would  use  it.  The  grace  is  sufficient,  do  you 
not  see,  to  save  one  class,  but  not  the  other  ? 
So  here  is  predestination  again.  The  line  is 
drawn  between  the  two  classes,  and  one  class 
can  never  be  saved,  because  the  grace  given 
is  not  sufficient  to  induce  them  to  make  an 
effort  to  secure  salvation." 

"Well,"  said  Ernest,  "do  you  not  make 
God  unjust  in  not  giving  them  sufficient 
grace  ?  " 

"  If  He  did  give  every  man  sufficient  grace  to 
save  him,"  said  the  Lieutenant,  "  then  every 
man  would  be  saved.  What  is  that  but  the 
broadest  universalism  ?  " 

Ernest  made  no  reply. 

"But you  are  not  a  universalist,"  continued 
the  Lieutenant.  "  If  not,  you  must  believe  the 
doctrine  of  election  :  there  is  no  other  alterna- 


240  DEEP    WATERS. 

tive.  The  difference  between  us  is  this  :  I  affirm 
that  God  elects  His  people  upon  a  principle 
with  which  He  has  not  acquainted  us  ;  you  say 
that  the  election  depends  upon  men  them 
selves ;  and  you  divide  men  into  two  classes, 
and  the  individuals  of  one  class  are  so  consti- 
tuted that  it  is  certain  they  will  resist  all  sacred 
influences,  and  consequently  will  inevitably 
be  lost.  This  is  as  rigid  predestination  as  ever 
John  Calvin  advocated." 

"  You  have  a  way  of  making  me  say  things 
I  do  not  mean.  Lieutenant." 

"  No,"  answered  the  Lieutenant,  "I  merely 
followed  out  the  proposition  you  laid  down  to 
its  legitimate  consequences.  I  do  not  see  how 
you  can  escape  these  consequences,  and  I 
would  be  glad  if  you  would  show  me  how  to 
avoid  them.  For,  I  confess  that  there  is  some- 
thing about  it  which  sorely  puzzles  me,  and 
troubles  me." 

"I  thought  you  professed  to  fully  under- 
stand it,"  said  Ernest. 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  do  not  understand  it. 
I  merely  take  the  Bible  at  what  it  says.  But 
I  never  pretended  to  reconcile  election  with 
human  free  agency.  We  can  go  to  a  certain 
point,  and  there  we  must  stop." 


A   DESPEEATE   MAN.  241 

*'  What  is  it  that  perplexes  you  so?  " 

"Well,"  answered  the  Lieutenant,  "some 
people  assert  that  God  desires  and  wills  every 
human  being  to  be  saved.  Now,  if  He  does, 
why  does  He  not  save  them  ?  Why  does  He 
not  accomplish  His  own  will?  He,  undoubted- 
ly, has  the  power." 

"We  might  answer,"  replied  Ernest,  "that 
God  will  not  destroy  their  free  agency." 

"  Is  it  so  important  and  necessary  to  pre- 
serve free  agency  that  men  must  suffer  eternal 
torment  for  it?"  asked  the  Lieutenant. 
"  Would  it  not  be  better  to  destroy  their  free 
agency  than  to  permit  men  to  use  it  to  their  own 
destruction  ?  We  cannot  deny  that  God  could 
save  every  man  if  He  really  desired  and  willed 
to  do  so.  He  could  speak  to  them  with  an  audi- 
ble voice  or  show  them  a  great  light,  as  He 
did  Paul,  and  in  this  way  bring  the  entire  hu- 
man race  into  the  fold  of  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ.  But  it  is  as  clear  as  anything  can  be, 
that  God  never  intended  to  save  all  men.  If 
He  did.  what  was  there  to  defeat  the  divine  in- 
tention ?  If  you  say  that  men  will  not  let  Him 
save  them,  then  men  have  more  power  than 
God.  In  fact,  any  position  you  may  take  that 
is  not  in  harmony  with  the  Westminster  Con- 


242  DEEP   WATERS. 

fession  of  Faith  will  end  in  confusion  and 
darkness.  Why  not,  then,  take  the  plain 
Scriptures  on  the  subject?  All  through  God's 
word  the  two  classes,  the  lost  and  the  saved, 
are  spoken  of.  You  may  account  for  the 
damnation  of  sinners  on  any  principle  you 
please ;  you  may  say  that  God  has  nothing  to 
do  with  it,  if  you  will ;  you  may  say  that  men 
are  perfectly  free  agents  ;  that  there  is  no  such 
doctrine  as  election  in  the  Scriptures  ;  you  may 
blot  out  predestination,  but  nevertheless  the 
fact  stares  you  in  the  face  that  there  are  the 
Saved  and  the  Lost.  We  must  judge  of  God's 
purpose  by  what  takes  place.  Men  are  saved 
every  day.  Men  are  lost  everyday.  Now,  all 
this  is  in  accordance  with  the  divine  will  or 
opposed  to  it ;  one  or  the  other.  If  it  is  in  ac- 
cordance with  God's  will,  this  is  the  elec- 
tion for  which  we  contend.  But  if  it  is  opposed 
to  the  divine  will,  we  are  forced  to  the  con- 
clusion that  God  has  not  sufficient  power  to 
accomplish  what  He  wants." 

"  As  I  told  you,  Lieutenant,"  said  Ernest, 
"  I  am  inclined  to  the  doctrine  of  the  Presbyte- 
rian Church.  I  can  see  that  there  is  more  com- 
fort in  it  than  the  opposite,  and  it  is  certainly 
more  Scriptural." 


A    DESPERATE   MAN.  243 

"  The  opposite  is  too  vague  and  loose,"  an- 
swered the  Lieutenant.  "  The  believer  has  too 
little  security.  According  to  the  view  of  some 
people,  the  Christian  may  be  in  a  state  of  grace 
to-day,  and  to-morrow  in  a  state  of  condemna- 
tion. If  I  believed  that,  I  should  be  miserable, 
for  I  should  never  know  whether  I  was  safe  or 
not.  I  prefer  to  believe  God's  own  declaration, 
which  is  that  He  will  complete  the  good  work 
He  has  begun,  and  that  His  people  shall  never 
perish." 

"I  believe  that,  myself,"  said  Ernest.  "I 
have  been  talking  on  this  subject  more  to 
keep  my  mind  off  my  misfortune  than  for  an}^- 
thing  else,  but  it  is  in  vain.  How  can  I  help 
thinking  of  it  ?  My  mind  is  now  like  a  volcano 
in  a  state  of  activity.  I  cannot  stand  this.  I 
cannot  lie  here  in  camp  doing  nothing,  while 
she  is  languishing  in  prison.  Good  heavens  ! 
it  is  enough  to  drive  me  mad." 

"Let  us  pray  to  God  for  direction." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  answered  Ernest. 
"Please  pray  for  me." 

They  both  knelt  down,  and  the  Lieutenant  in 
a  low  voice  prayed  earnestly  for  his  friend,  that 
God  would  sustain  him  and  bring  him  in  tri 
umph  out  of  all   his   troubles.      When   they 
arose,  the  Lieutenant  said : 


244  DEEP    WATEES. 

"  Now  let  us  have  faUh  in  God,  but  that 
does  not  mean  that  we  are  not  to  be  active 
ourselves.  What  course  do  you  intend  to  pur- 
sue ?" 

"I  must  go  into  Washington  City,"  said 
Ernest. 

"How  can  you  do  that?"  inquired  the  Lieu- 
tenant. 

"I  do  not  know,  but  I  must  go.  Perhaps 
Gen.  A.  can  assist  me.  He  ought  to  do  so, 
since  he  is  the  cause  of  the  calamity.  I  shall 
go  to  him  at  once.  The  train  will  be  here  in 
two  hours.  I  cannot  stay  here  ;  I  will  desert 
first." 

And  Ernest  dashed  out  of  the  tent  and  rush- 
ed off  like  a  mad  man. 


-c 


% 


OiLAPTER  XIV. 


DARK  HOURS. 


The  rapid  pace  of  Ernest  soon  brought  him 
to  the  quarters  of  his  Brigadier  General,  a 
man  whose  name  is  inseparably  connected 
with  the  battle  of  Bull  Run.  After  the  Briga- 
dier had  heard  the  touching  story  of  Mildred's 
arrest  and  incarceration,  he  gave,  without  hes- 
itation, the  distressed  young  man  a  permit  to 
visit  Gen.  A. 

In  less  than  two  hours  after  this,  Ernest  was 
thundering  along  toward  Gen.  A.'s  headquar- 
ters, which  he  reached  about  four  o'clock  in 
the  evening.  After  the  ceremony  necessary 
to  secure  access  to  a  General,  he  entered  the 
little  farm  house  to  which  allusion  has  already 
been  made,  and  introduced  himself.  There  is 
never  much  social  intercourse  between  the 
higher  and  subordinate  officers  of  an  army. 
There  is  a  great  gulf  between  them  which  is 
rarely  crossed.  In  visiting  a  high  officer,  it  is 
not  expected  that  the  subaltern  shall  make 

245 


246  DEEP  WATEES. 

familiar  remarks  about  the  weather  or  any 
other  ordinary  topic.  He  must  come  to  busi- 
ness in  medias  res. 

"  Well,  sir,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?"  asked 
Gen.  A.  in  that  impatient  military  tone  which 
indicates  that  the  applicant  must  talk  fast  and 
to  the  point. 

"  Some  days  ago,  sir,"  said  Ernest,  stung  by 
his  frigid  reception,  '•  you  sent  a  young  lady 
of  this  neighborhood  into  Washington,  where 
she  was  arrested  and  will  probably  be  doom- 
ed to  death,  if  she  has  not  already  been." 

"  Well  ?" 

"  Well !"  exclaimed  Ernest,  vexed  at  the 
General's  coolness  and  seeming  indifference, 
"she  is  my  affianced." 

''  Well,  go  on." 

''  Are  you  not  going  to  make  some  effort-for 
her  relief,"  cried  Ernest,  warming  into  bold- 
ness, "  or  do  you  propose  to  let  her  perish  ?" 

*'  I  should  like  to  know  what  I  can  do  ?" 
quoth  Gen.  A. 

''  I  do  not  know  what  you  can  do,"  cried 
Ernest  iu  desperation,  "  but  you  ought  to  do 
something,  since  you  are  the  cause  of  her 
misfortune." 

"Am    I  to^be  held  responsible  for  all   the 


DAEK  HOURS.  247 

calamities  which  the  war  may  bring  upon  cit- 
izens and  soldiers  ? "  broke  out  the  General. 
"  If  so,  I  shall  resign  my  position  at  once. 
The  young  lady  herself  will  not  hold  me  to 
such  responsibility.  She  went  with  a  full 
knowledge  of  what  she  would  have  to  en- 
counter." 

"  Suppose  she  did,  sir,  does  that  make  it 
any  the  less  necessary  that  efforts  should  be 
made  to  save  her  ?  " 

"  I  would  save  her,  if  I  could,"  said  the 
officer. 

"  General,"  cried  Ernest,  overcome  by  his 
conflicting  emotions,  ''  something  must  be  done 
for  her  relief.  It  seems  to  me  that  you  are  too 
indifferent  about  it." 

The  General  looked  at  him  in  surprise  and 
with  an  expressioQ  of  sternness,  but  Ernest 
was  now  deeply  agitated,  and  he  met  the  offi- 
cial coup  d  '  oeil  without  the  slightest  indica- 
tion of  servility. 

"I  cannot  stay  here  in  camp,"  continued 
Ernest,  "  when  the  being  who  is  dearer  to  me 
than  life  is  in  such  imminent  danger.  You 
cannot  expect  me  to  be  a  good  soldier  under 
such  circumstances." 

"Well,  what  do  you  want?"  asked  Gen.  A. 


248  DEEP   WATERS. 

''  I  must  do  something,"  replied  Ernest.  "  Can 
you  aid  me  in  getting  into  Washington  ? " 

"  If  you  were  there,  what  could  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  what,  General,  but  I  am 
willing  to  risk  my  life  in  the  attempt  to  save 
her." 

"I  cannot  see,"  said  the  General,  whose 
feelings  were  beginning  to  soften  at  the  sight 
of  the  young  man's  distress,  "  what  you  could 
do  if  you  were  in  the  city." 

"  General,  I  must  go." 

"If  you  do  go,  you  are  liable  to  be  arrested 
as  a  spy  yourself." 

"I  will  have  to  take  that  risk.  General. 
How  did  you  enable  her  to  go  into  the  city  ?" 

"  O,  that  is  managed  easily  enough." 

"  Then,  General,  in  heaven's  name,  let  me 
go,"  exclaimed  Ernest,  ''  let  me  go.  If  I  do  not 
save  her,  I  will  return  and  devote  my  life  to 
avenging  her  death.  I  will  be  the  bravest 
soldier  in  your  army." 

''  Yery  well,  sir,  you  can  try  it." 

"  Thanks,  General,  ten  thousand  thanks.  I 
shall  never  forget  your  kindness  as  long  as  I 
live.     When  can  I  start  ?" 

"  Whenever  you  please,"  said  Gen.  A. 

"  Then  I  will  go  at  once,"  said  Ernest,  "  I 
do  not  want  to  lose  a  moment." 


DARK   HOURS.  249 

Gen.  A.  immediately  gave  Ernest  the  neces- 
sary directions.     It  is  no  part  of  our  story  to 
explain  how  Gen.  A.  enabled  people  to  go  in 
and  out  of  Washington.   It  is  sufficient  to  say 
that  he  did  it.   As  we  have  already  remarked, 
the  real  history  of  the  war  has  never  been 
written,  and  never  will  be.     The  most  thrilling 
portions  of  it  will  remain  in  eternal  obscurity. 
Many  stirring  incidents  will  linger  for  a  while 
in  individual  memories,  and  will  enliven  the 
fire-sides  of  families  for  a  few  years,  and  then 
perish  forever.      Not   many   ever  knew   how 
Ernest  made  his  way  into  Washington,  but 
the  next  day  he  saw  the  capitol  of  the  United 
States.     This,  however,  was  the  least  of  his 
difficulties.   How  could  he  find  Mildred  ?   And 
what  could  he  do  after  finding  her  ?    But  he 
determined  to  make  every  eff*ort  in  his  power, 
trusting  to   chance  to  furnish  opportunities. 
Fortune  soon  seemed  to  favor  him.     For  the 
next  day  after  his  arrival,  he  was  standing  on 
a  certain  street,  which  it  is  not  necessary  to 
name,  gazing  about  in  a  vacant  way,  while 
thoughts  were  revolving  in  his  mind,  connect- 
ed with  the  object  of  his  visit.     He  was  op- 
posite the  hotel  at  which  he  was  stopping.  Ac- 
cidently,  it  seemed,  casting  his  eye  upward, 


250  DEEP   WATERS. 

he  beheld  a  lady  at  the  window  of  the  corner 
room  of  the  fourth  story.  She  was  looking 
down  on  the  crowds  below  as  they  went  hurry- 
ing along  the  street.  Ernest,  after  a  moment's 
examination,  recognized  her.  He  waved  his 
hand  till,  at  last,  he  attracted  her  attention. 
Mildred  gazed  at  him  earnestly  for  a  moment, 
and  waved  responsively  in  token  of  recogni- 
tion. Ernest  placed  his  fingers  upon  his 
mouth  in  a  significant  manner,  which  she  un- 
derstood. He  stood  for  a  brief  space  in  pro- 
found study,  but  suddenly  disappearing, 
crossed  the  street,  and  entered  the  hotel.  He 
ascended  to  the  fourth  story  where  his  own 
room  was  located.  Mildred  was  on  the  same 
floor  in  the  corner  room.  He  had  noticed  the 
guard  at  the  door,  but  till  now,  knew  not  who 
the  prisoner  was.  Approaching  the  sentinel, 
he  spoke  in  a  tone  sufficiently  loud  for  Mildred 
to  hear : 

"  Whom  are  you  guarding  ? " 

"  It  seems  to  be  a  leddy,"  replied  an  Irish- 
man, "  but  how  shud  I  know  who  she  be  ?  " 

"What  are  your  instructions?"  asked 
Ernest. 

''  Why,  to  let  no  one  in  nor  out,  to  be  shure." 

"Is  the  door  locked ?  "  asked  Ernest. 


DARK   HOURS.  251 

"Faith  is  it,  and  the  kay  is  gone." 

"Who lias  it?" 

"  The  Capting,  I  guess." 

"  What  is  the  lady  confined  for  ?  " 

"  Narry  bit  do  I  know." 

"  Will  you  not  let  me  speak  to  this  lady 
through  the  keyhole  ? "  asked  Ernest. 

"  Och !  what  would  ye  be  afther  doin'  ?  Do 
ye  want  me  to  be  a  traitor  to  my  counthry  ? " 

"  No,  no  :  I  do  not  want  you  to  be  a  traitor," 
said  Ernest  in  a  low  tone.  Are  you  a  married 
man  or  not  ?  " 

''  Faith  no,  but  I  expect  to  be,  as  soon  as 
this  whar  is  over,  which  I  hope  wont  be  a 
ghreat  toime ;  an'  then  I'll  be  marrhid  to  one 
of  the  moust  beautiful  geerls  in  the  whoul 
city." 

"  Then  listen  to  me,  my  friend.  You  are  en- 
gaged to  be  married,  and  so  am  I.  Now  sup- 
pose your  girl  were  confined  in  that  room,  and 
I  should  be  standing  guard  in  your  place,  and 
you  should  come  up,  and  ask  me  to  let  you 
speak  one  little  word  to  her  through  the  key- 
hole, and  I  should  refuse,  what  would  you 
think  of  me?" 

"  Faith,  I'd  take  you  to  be  a  mane  rascal." 

"  Well,"  said  Ernest  eagerly,  "  the  girl  you 


252  DEEP   WATERS. 

have  in  that  room  has  promised  to  many  me. 
I  have  not  spoken  to  her  for  several  months. 
Now,  will  you  drive  me  away  without  letting 
me  speak  to  her?" 

"Och;  that's  it,  is  it?  By  the  houly  St. 
Pathrick,  I  cud  niver  find  it  in  me  heart  to  deny 
a  feller  that  small  a  favor.  Biddy  would  call 
me  a  mane  dog,  ef  I  was  to  do  as  dhirty  a 
trick  as  that.  It's  spaking  to  her,  is  it  ?  Well 
spake,  but  be  as  quick  as  you  ken." 

"Thank  you,  thank  you,  my  good  friend," 
said  Ernest,  as  tremblingly  he  applied  his 
mouth  to  the  key-hole. 

''  Mildred  ?  Mildred  !  "  he  called. 

"  O,  Ernest,  is  it  you?"  she  asked,  draw- 
ing her  chair  to  the  door. 

"  Yes  ;  are  you  well  ? " 

"I  am,  except  heart-sickness." 

"I  do  not  know  how  you  have  stood  it." 
replied  Ernest.  ''  But  what  are  your  pros- 
pects ? " 

''  0  !  they  are  dark,  Ernest,  so  dark  at  times. 
But  how  came  you  here  ?  " 

"  I  came  to  find  out  about  you." 

"Are  you  not  in  danger?  "  she  asked. 

"I  do  not  know.  I  never  thought  of  any 
personal  danger.     O,  Mildred,  you  cannot  im- 


DAEK   HOURS.  253 

agine  what  I  have  endured.     But  the  worst  has 
not  come." 

"  Try  to  be  brave,"  she  said.  There  is  a 
God  who  rules  in  the  affairs  of  men.  I  have 
not  lost  faith  in  Him.  I  am  in  His  hands,  and 
I  know  He  can  raise  up  friends  to  aid  me  in 
the  darkest  hours  of  misfortune.  I  spend  the 
most  of  my  time  in  prayer,  and  were  it  not  for 
my  belief,  I  fear  I  should  lose  my  mind.  I  try 
so  hard  to  be  reconciled  to  God's  will,  but 
sometimes,  when  I  think  of  my  parents  and 
sisters,  it  is  hard  to  keep  down  the  spirit  of 
rebellion." 

"If  anything  worse  than  imprisonment  hap- 
pens to  you,""  said  Ernest,  "  I  shall  be  tempted 
to  doubt  the  goodness  and  justice  of  God." 

"  Do  not  talk  that  way,"  she  said,  as  if  hori- 
fied.  "I  would  rather  die  a  thousand  times 
than  have  one  harsh  thought  of  my  God.  Our 
times  are  in  His  hands,  and  He  has  determined 
when  and  how  we  shall  die,  and  He  will  do  right. 
I  am  distressed  not  so  much  on  account  of  my- 
self as  of  my  family." 

"You  have  no  thought  for  me  ^"  asked 
Ernest. 

"  Yes,  I  include  you  with  the  family." 

"O,   Mildi-ed!"   he   exclaimed   in   tones   of 


254  DEEP   WATERS. 

anguish,  "  I  love  you  "better  than  my  own  life. 
God  knows  if  I  could  take  your  place,  and 
restore  you  to  freedom,  I  would  willingly  and 
cheerfully  do  it." 

"  I  believe  you,  Ernest,  but  I  could  not  ask 
you  to  make  such  a  sacrifice,  even  if  it  were 
possible.  But  the  good  Lord  knows  what  is 
best.     I  have  no  fears." 

"  Do  you  have  any  hope  of  escape  ?" 

'*  I  cannot  say  that  I  have  any  particular 
hope.  I  have  no  plans  at  all.  I  leave  the 
matter  in  God's  hands.  He  has  appointed 
the  time,  place  and  manner  of  my  death,  and 
I  cannot  die  till  God's  time  arrives.  You 
know  in  what  faith  my  father  has  trained  me. 
I  will  trust  my  God  though  He  slay  me." 

"0,  Mildred,  I  do  wish  I  had  such  a  firm 
faith  as  yours.  It  seems  to  sustain  you  under 
the  most  fearful  circumstances." 

"  So  it  does.  Sometimes,"  she  continued 
with  tears  of  joy  in  her  eyes,  "  I  feel  happy  at 
the  thought  of  so  soon  going  to  the  blessed 
mansions  which  Jesus  is  preparing  for  them 
that  love  Him." 

"And,  sometimes,  Mildred,  I  hate  myself 
for  my  spiritual  infirmities.  While  you  can 
look  upon  death  as  a  blessing,  I  cannot  but 


DARK  HOURS.  255 

see  in  it  a  calamity — I  cannot  regard  it  as 
anything  else — that  you  should  betaken  from 
me  and  your  family  in  the  prime  of  life, 
especially — .  I  cannot  finish  the  sentence." 

"•  You  were  going  to  say,"  replied  Mildred 
with  perfect  calmness,  "  especially  if  I  should 
die  such  a  violent  death  as  makes  you  shud- 
der to  contemplate." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Ernest  in  an  agitated  man- 
ner, "  it  maddens  me  to  think  about  it.  I  can 
never  forgive  Gen.  A.  for  bringing  you  into 
this  awful  situation." 

''  But  you  must  do  it,  Ernest.  God  requires 
it  at  your  hands." 

"0,  Mildred,  I  cannot  see  the  hand  of  a 
merciful  providence  in  this  misfortune,"  sud- 
denly cried  Ernest.     "It  appears  cruel." 

"You  are  very  rebellious,"  rejoined  Mildred 
gently,  "  and  I  am  sorry  to  see  it.  You  will 
have  to  learn  to  guard  your  tongue  and 
thoughts,  or  God  will  mercifully  subdue  your 
proud  spirit  by  a  worse  misfortune." 

"  What  can  be  worse  than  this  ?"  cried 
Ernest  bitterly.  "I  would  be  better  recon- 
ciled if  I  were  in  your  place." 

"Then,  perhaps,  God  is  now  causing  you  to 
pass  under  the  chastening  rod  by  allowing 


256  DEEP    WATERS. 

the  misfortune,  as  you  call  it,  to  befall  me. 
The  loss  of  my  life,  at  this  time,  may  be  nec- 
essary to  the  accomplishment  of  some  good 
purpose.  Suppose  I  should  die,  the  separa- 
tion from  my  loved  ones  will  not  be  long. 
Thank  God !  We  will  all  soon  meet  under 
brighter  skies,  where  no  cannon  roars,  no  tear 
is  shed,  no  sickness  comes,  no  death  invades, 
but  where  there  is  universal  peace,  joy  and 
love." 

''  0,  Mildred,"  exclaimed  Ernest,  "  you  are 
so  much  better  than  I  am.  You  are  as  pure 
as  the  angels,  and  I  am  not  worthy  of  you.  I 
I  wish  I  could  believe  this  Presbyterian  doc- 
trine as  you  do.  I  can  see  that  it  is  this 
which  enables  you  to  bear  up  under  the  dark- 
est trials,  and  in  the  face  of  death." 

"  I  am  not  so  good  and  pure  as  you  seem  to 
believe,"  answered  Mildred,  "  but  I  am  glad  to 
say  I  fully  endorse  the  doctrines  of  the  Pres- 
byterian Church.  Yet  there  are  moments 
when  the  spirit  of  rebellion  rises  up  in  me. 
Frequently  I  find  myself  shedding  tears." 

''I  do  not  see  how  you  can  help  it,"  said 
Ernest  in  surprise.     "  Surely  there  is  no  rebel 
lion  in  that." 

"I  fear   there   is,"   replied  Mildred.       "It 


DARK   HOURS.  257 

seems  like  anticipating  Grod's  purposes.  What 
is  the  use  of  grieving  over  a  misfortune  that 
may  never  come  ?  Grod  may  send  deliverance 
in  some  very  unexpected  way.  Nothing  is  too 
hard  for  Him." 

"  O,  Mildred,  I  feel  as  helpless  as  a  child.  I 
have  worked  my  way  into  this  city,  and  now, 
having  found  you,  I  can  do  nothing.  You 
have  had  no  trial,  I  infer." 

"No,  not  yet." 

"  You  may  have  to  languish  here  for  months 
before  they  reach  your  case.  I  know  some- 
thing about  the  military  courts." 

"  Probably  you  will  put  your  own  life  in 
jeopardy  by  remaining  here,"  said  Mildred. 
*' You  can  be  of  no  advantage  to  me  and  you 
would  better  return." 

"I  would  not  be  worthy  of  you,  if  I  could 
not  cheerfully  risk  my  life  for  you.  Have  you 
heard  nothing  from  Gen.  A.  ?" 

"  Not  a  word." 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  never  can  forgive  him." 

"  You  are  very  wrong,"  answered  Mildred 
mildly.  "  Gen.  A.  could  never  have  persuad- 
ed me  to  undertake  such  a  business  if  I  had 
not  wanted  to  serve  my  country.  My  life  is 
of  no  more  value  than  the  lives  of  thousands 
of  soldiers  who  fall  upon  every  field." 


258  DEEP   WATERS. 

At  this  juncture  the  Irishman  who  had 
moved  off  several  paces  from  the  door  ap- 
proached and  said : 

"  Haven't  you  talked  long  enough  ?" 

"  Do  you  ever  become  tired  of  talking  to 
your  girl  ?"  asked  Ernest. 

"  No,  i'  faith,"  replied  the  guard.  "  Biddy 
is  a  rose,  she  is,  an'  she  don't  give  me  much 
chance  to  talk — she  has  such  a  lively  tongue 
herself.  But  I'm  afeerd  for  ye  to  stay  here  iny 
longer." 

"  I  will  not  impose  upon  you,"  replied  Er- 
nest, "nor  take  advantage  of  your  kindness. 
I  am  so  much  obliged  to  you." 

"I  hope  ye'v  hed  a  pleasint  chat  Avith  the 
leddy,"  said  the  Irishman. 

"  Yes,  but  let  me  bid  her  adieu." 

"  Certainly  ye  may,  an'  I'll  move  mesilf  off 
so's  I  may'nt  hear  your  swate  words.  I  know 
how  'tis  with  Biddy,  mesilf." 

''  Mildred,"  said  Ernest,  "the  sentinel  will 
not  permit  us  to  converse  longer.  I  must 
leave  you  and  I  know  not  when  I  can  see  you 
again.  The  next  guard  may  not  be  as  kind  as 
this  one." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Not  far.    My  room  is  on  this  floor.  I  shall 


DAEK   HOURS.  259 

watcli  for  any  chance  for  saving  you  that  may 
arise.     God  bless  you.     Good-by." 

"  Good-by.    Pray  for  me." 

"I  need  to  ask  your  prayers,"  replied  Er- 
nest. The  young  man  turned  sorrowfully 
away,  went  to  hVs  room,  fell  upon  his  knees, 
and  cried  to  God  in  anguish  of  spirit.  He 
prayed  that  he  might  have  the  sublime  faith 
of  Mildred.  He  felt  humbled  under  a  sense 
of  his  helplessness. 

It  seems  to  be  natural  to  us  to  cry  to  the 
Supreme  Being  in  the  hours  of  distress.  The 
most  immoral  men  will  pray  to  God  when  mis- 
fortunes come  upon  them.  They  have  no  faith 
in  it,  but  the  inner  soul  becomes  frightened  ; 
it  almost  proclaims  its  independence  of  its 
physical  environments,  and  expresses  its 
wants  through  the  reluctant  organs  of  the 
body.  Therefore,  wicked  men  pray  in  times  of 
danger. 


-e^-:    -^^- 


CHAPTER  Xy. 


A  REMARKABLE  EVENT. 


It  was  night.  The  stars  looked  down  from 
their  blue  dome  upon  the  lamp-lit  streets  of 
Washington.  Busy  feet  went  hurrying  along 
this  way  and  that.  Small  groups  could  be 
seen  standing  at  different  places,  discussing 
some  question  of  an  exciting  character.  If  we 
draw  near  to  any  of  these  groups,  we  will  hear 
such  expressions  as  "  great  victory,"  "  hard 
fight,"  "  four  hundred  rebels  killed."  But  we 
are  not  now  specially  concerned  with  this 
"  glorious  news,"  which  had  come  on  the 
telegraph  wires. 

Let  us  pause  before  that  large  hotel,  stand- 
ing on  a  certain  street,  which  shall  be  name- 
less. Then  let  us  enter,  and  ascend  to  the 
corner  room  of  the  fourth  story.  The  door  is 
locked,  and  on  the  outside  stands  a  sentinel 
with  musket  in  hand.  Inside  there  is  a  lady 
on  her  knees.  She  has  been  informed  that  her 
trial  will  take  place  on  the  ensuing  day.  Three 

260 


A  remarkablp:  event.  261 

days  have  passed  since  her  interview  with 
Ernest.  Gen.  A.  had  told  her  what  would  be 
the  consequence  of  detection  with  that  hand- 
kerchief in  her  possession.  The  result  of  the 
trial  may,  therefore,  be  easily  anticipated. 
The  fate  of  a  spy  is  ''  death  by  hanging." 

Mildred  well  knew  what  she  had  to  expect, 
but  strange  to  say,  the  dark  prospect  excited 
no  alarm.     Probably  she  could  not  make  a 
reality  of  the  impending  danger.     This  is  what 
the  world  would  say.     We   are   creatures  of 
hope,  and  we  do  not  yield  to  despair  till  the 
last  chance  is  gone.     But  the  Christian  is  sus- 
tained in  the  most  awful  calamities  by  some- 
thing higher  than  any  human  hope  of  deliver- 
ance.    In   the  darkest  hours  of  trial,  a  myste- 
rious influence  pervades  the  Christian's  breast, 
produces   a  holy    calm,    a    sacred   joy,   and 
elevates  the   soul   in  triumph   above   earthly 
sufferings    and    sorrows.       Unbelievers    may 
pronounce  it  a  delusion,  but,  nevertheless,  itis 
a  delusion  which  brings  happiness  ;  and  if  this 
be  so,  the  delusion  is  just  as  useful  and  com- 
forting as  though  death  should  put  an  end  to 
the  entire  man— both  body  and  soul. 

After  arising  from  her  knees,  Mildred  seated 
herself  at  the  window,  and  gazed  down  upon 


2C2  DEEP   WATERS. 

the  scenes  below.  At  that  moment  she  felt 
not  a  particle  of  fear  or  mistrust.  She  was 
perfectly  resigned  to  the  will  of  the  Heavenly 
Father,  let  it  be  expressed  in  what  aspect  it 
might.  She  gave  herself  up  to  this  ecstatic 
sense  of  security,  feeling  as  if  she  were  nest- 
ling, like  a  timid  bird  in  the  Omnipotent  Hand. 
Were  "  coming  events  casting  their  shadows 
before  ? '' 

While  in  this  strange  state  of  feeling,  she 
was  startled  by  a  gentle  rap  on  her  door.  This 
was  so  unusual  that  she  waited  for  a  repeti- 
tion of  the  signal.     There  was  a  louder  tap. 

"  What  is  wanted  ? "  she  asked. 

She  heard  the  click  of  a  key,  and  the  door 
stood  open.  Her  lamp  threw  its  rays  upon  the 
form  of  a  young  man  dressed  in  the  Federal 
uniform.  He  took  off  his  cap,  bowed,  and 
looked  straight  at  Mildred.  She  glanced  at  his 
face,  and  with  a  little  cry  of  j  oy  sprang  toward 
him. 

"0,  Will,  can  it  be  you  ?"  she  exclaimed. 

'^  It  is  I,  cousin  Mildred." 

Without  another  word,  she  threw  her  arms 
around  his  neck,  and  pent-up  tears  flowed 
without  restraint.  The  officer  brushed  the 
drops  from  his  own  eyes,  and  said  : 


A  REMAEKABLE  EVENT.  263 

"  Come,  cousin,  you'll  make  me  ashamed  of 
myself.  It  is  weakness  in  a  soldier  to  cry. 
Sit  down  and  let  me  look  at  you.  I  have  not 
seen  you  for  five  years.  Upon  my  word, 
you've  got  to  be  right  good-looking." 

"Why  have  you  not  called  to  see  me 
before  ? " 

"  Now  don't  begin  to  scold  before  I've  had 
time  to  say  'howdy';"  said  the  officer  gaily. 
"  I  didn't  know  you  were  here.  My  company 
has  been  guarding  you  too,  but  I  did  not  see 
you,  nor  hear  your  name  called.  To-day  I 
happened  to  be  in  the  room  where  they  are 
holding  court,  and  I  heard  one  of  the  officers 
say  that  the  case  of  Mildred  Arrington  would 
come  first  to-morrow  morning.  I  ascertained 
the  charges  against  you,  and  I've  come  to  see 
whether  it  was  my  cousin  Mildred ;  and  sure 
enough  it  is.  But  I  never  expected  to  find  you 
in  such  a  place — at  least,  in  such  a  predica- 
ment.    It  seems  you  are  a  spy." 

"  That  I  deny,  cousin  Will,  if  I  know  what 
it  is  to  be  a  spy." 

"  Well,  it  amounts  to  the  same  thing.  Your 
accomplice  was  tried  to-day." 

"Who." 

"  You  know — one  Capt.  Beall." 


264  DEEP  WATERS. 

"And  what?"  asked  Mildred. 

"Why,  he  will  hang  next  Friday — that's 
all." 

We  may  here  remark  that  it  is  a  matter  of 
history  that  Capt.  BeaU  was  executed  as  a 
spy,  and  met  his  dismal  fate  with  an  undaunt- 
ed courage  that  excited  the  admiration,  and 
pity  of  his  enemies — I  say  pity,  because  we 
all  dislike  to  see  a  brave,  noble  man  put  to  an 
ignominious  death. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Mildred. 

"  No  doubt,  you  are  ;  but  what  is  to  become 
of  yourself,  my  pretty  cousin  ?  " 

"  Why,  has  not  God  sent  you  to  release 
me  ?  "  asked  Mildred  with  the  simple  faith  of 
a  child. 

"  O,  you  old  blue-stocking  Presbyterian !  " 
cried  Capt.  Benner,  breaking  into  a  laugh. 
"  That  is  so  like  you.  You  get  into  an  ugly 
scrape,  and  ask  God  to  help  you  out  of  it,  and 
a  kind-hearted  young  fellow  calls  to  see  you, 
and  you  forthwith  jump  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  Lord  sent  him  to  save  you.  What  a 
faith  you  do  have.  But  don't  be  too  fast," 
continued  the  officer,  with  a  merry  twinkle, 
"  you  are  a  rebel,  and  I  am  a  union  man.  I 
don't  know  whether  I  ought  to  have  called  at 


A   EEMARKABLE   EVENT.  265 

all  or  not,  But  how  do  you  expect  me  to  save 
you  ?  Do  you  want  me  to  be  a  traitor  ?  Do 
you  want  me  to  release  a  dangerous  spy  ?  Say, 
now?" 

"No,  cousin.  If  it  endangers  you,  let  me 
be.  I  am  ready  to  be  sacrificed  on  the  altar 
of  my  country,"  said  Mildred. 

"  O,  ho  !  you  want  to  be  a  martyr,  do  you?" 

"No  ;  I  have  no  ambition  in  that  way,"  re- 
plied Mildred.  "  I  would  prefer  to  go  home  to 
my  family  ;  but  I  do  not  want  you  to  take  any 
risks  to  save  me." 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  could  release  a  prisoner 
without  taking  risks  ?  To  be  sure,  my  fair 
cousin,  I  will  have  to  take  risks." 

"Then,  leave  me  alone,"  said  Mildred. 

"  Leave  you  to  be  hanged,  you  mean?  " 

"  Yes,  if  that  is  the  penalty." 

"  And  after  that  deplorable  event,"  said  the 
officer,  ''  could  I  ever  look  my  mother  in  the 
face  ?  Could  I  see  Uncle  Arrington  again, 
and  good  Aunt  Jennie  ?  After  the  war,  when 
I  go  down  South  again,  and  call  at  uncle's, 
and  I  should  hold  out  my  hand,  he  would 
start  back  and  say,  '  Nn,  I  cannot  touch  that 
hand;  it  is  stained  with  poor  Mildred's  blood.' 
And  aunt  would  say,  '  Leave  me,  Will,  I  can- 


266  DEEP  WATEES. 

not  bear  to  look  at  yon.'  How  do  yon  snppose 
I  wonld  feel,  eh  ?  I  gness  I  should  go  oif  like 
Jndas  did,  and  hang  myself — I  think  I  wonld." 

"  Well,  let  ns  be  serions,  Will.  I  am  in  no 
humor  for  sport  now.  Do  not  keep  me  in  sus- 
pense.    What  have  you  come  for  ?  " 

"Didn't  you  say,  just  now,  that  God  sent 
me  ?  I  wish  I  could  think  it.  It  would  be  a 
great  relief  to  my  conscience." 

"  How  is  that  ?  " 

"Why,  don't  you  see,  I've  got  to  play  false 
to  my  government  and  my  country,  if  I  give 
you  freedom  ?  " 

"Is  that  painful  to  your  conscience?  " 

"  If  I  say  yes,  then  you  will  become  stub- 
born, and  refuse  to  accept  the  boon  of  freedom. 
So,  that  you  may  have  no  scruples,  I  will  tell 
you  that  I  have  a  convenient  conscience — one 
that  will  stretch.  I  never  was  raised,  like  you, 
a  regular,  old  blue-stocking  Presbyterian. 
Sometimes,  though,  I  wish  I  had  been.  For 
there  is  no  doubt  in  my  mind  that  the  Pres- 
byterian is  the  most  solid  and  substantial 
Chnrch  on  earth. "^  My  mother,  you  know,  is 
a  Presbyterian,  and  my  father  belongs  to  the 


*  An  intelligent  member  of  the  Methodist  denomination 
once  spoke  these  very  words  to  the  author  of  this  story. 


A    REMARKABLE   EVEXT.  267 

Church.     I  notice  tliat  slie  is  tlie  firmer 

character,  and  I  can  say  with  truth,  more  con- 
sistent, religiously.  I  take  after  my  father ; 
and  that,  I  guess,  is  a  good  thing  for  you." 

''  Why  is  it?  "  asked  Mildred. 

"  Why,  don't  you  see,  if  I  were  a  rigid 
Presbyterian,  I  should  hesitate  about  giving 
you  liberty?  I  should  be  afraid  of  doing 
violence  to  my  conscience.  Waiving  that, 
however,  I  think  I  have  been  a  faithful  servant 
of  my  government,  and  they  might  allow  me 
to  release  one  wretched  prisoner." 

"  Why  could  you  not  get  a  pardon  for  me, 
and  thus  save  your  conscience  ? "  asked 
Mildred. 

"How  green  you  women  are!  Don't  yon 
know  there  is  no  pardon  for  a  spy  ?  Don't 
you  remember  Maj.  Andre,  of  the  Revolu- 
tionary war?  Washington  would  not  even 
let  the  poor  fellow  select  his  own  mode  of 
quitting  'these  low  grounds  of  sorrow.'  The 
punishment  for  this  great  sin  of  espionage  is 
death,  and  death  by  hanging." 

"  Can  you  free  me,"  asked  Mildred,  "  with- 
out compromising  your  own  safety  ?  " 

"  I  will  have  to  take  some  risks,  of  course, 
but  you  needn't  give  yourself  any  uneasiness 


268  .DEEP   WATEES. 

on  my  account,  my  fair  cousin.  Can  you 
make  your  way  home,  if  you  were  out  of  this 
building  ?     Can  you  go  alone  ? " 

"  Certainly,  but  it  will  not  be  necessary." 

"What!  you've  got  another   accomplice?" 

"I  shall  not  conceal  anything  from  you, 
Will,  since  you  are  so  kind,"  replied  Mildred, 
while  a  deep  blush  spread  over  her  features. 
"  I  am  engaged  to  be  married  to  a  young  man 
who  is  here.     His  room  is  on  this  floor." 

"  Indeed !  what  a  pretty,  romantic  scrape 
you  have  got  into  !  It  would  do  to  go  into  a 
novel.  But  you  have  made  such  an  honest 
confession,  though,  that  I  can't  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  teasing  you.     Is  he  a  Rebel  too  ?  " 

"Yes,  he  is." 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  patriotic,  if  I  were  to  have 
him  arrested,  and  tried  as  a  spy?  Two  ro- 
mantic lovers  hanged  on  a  sour  apple  tree  !  " 

"You  might  call  it  patriotic,"  said  Mildred, 
"but  what  would  I  call  it?  " 

"  0,  treacherous,  mean,  diabolical,  and  the 
like.  But  we've  got  to  act  now,"  taking  out 
his  watch.  "  What  do  you  want  me  to  do  ? 
Can  you  and  the  young  man  who  is  so  inter- 
esting, manage  the  matter  if  you  can  get  out 
of  the  city  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 


A   EEMARKABLE   EVENT.  269 

''When  can  yoii  see  him?" 

"I  suppose  he  is  in  his  room,'I  replied 
Mildred. 

"  What  number  ?  " 

-'No.  18." 

'^I'll  go  see  him  at  once." 

Accordingly,  the  officer  went  to  the  desig- 
nated number,  and  tapped  on  the  door.  A 
footstep  was  heard  inside,  and  the  door  was 
opened  by  Ernest.  Seeing  a  Federal  officer 
standing  before  him,  he  was  disagreeably  sur- 
prised. The  first  thought  that  entered  his 
mind  was  that  he  had  been  watched,  and  this 
man  had  come  to  arrest  him.  The  prospect 
was  enough  to  make  him  turn  pale.  Benner 
observed  liis  alarm,  and  said  with  a  smile  : 

''  Is  your  name  Edgefield  ?  " 

''  Who  told  you  that  I  bore  such  a  name  ? " 
asked  Ernest,  in  ill-concealed  surprise. 

"It  does  not  matter  who  told  me,  is  the  in- 
formation correct?" 

"  I  do  not  like  to  answer  questions  in  regard 
to  myself  till  I  understand  your  object." 

"My  object  is,  to   establish  your  identity." 

•'  For  what  purpose  ?  "  asked  Ernest. 

"  If  you  know  what  is  for  your  own  good," 
replied  Benner,  "  you  will  answer  candidly." 


; 
270  DEEP   WATEES. 

"  Supposing  that  to  be  my  name,  wliat 
then?"    - 

"  If  that's  your  name,  come  with  me." 

"  Where,"  asked  Ernest. 

"To  that  lady  in  the  corner  room." 

Ernest  looked  more  astonished  than  ever, 
on  hearing  this,  but  thought  it  best  to  obey 
in  silence.  Both  entered  the  room,  and  Mil- 
dred said : 

"Allow  me  to  introduce,  Capt.  Edgefield, 
my  cousin,  Capt.  Benner." 

Ernest,  at  first,  appeared  puzzled  and  be- 
wildered, but  he  soon  took  in  the  situation, 
and  his  feelings  vibrated  to  the  opposite  ex- 
treme. He  was  elevated  from  the  depths  of 
darkness  to  the  pinnacle  of  light.  Of  course, 
he  thought  the  young  man  had  come  to  bring 
deliverance  to  his  kinswoman.  At  that  mo- 
ment, too,  a  sense  of  his  ingratitude  toward 
God  flashed  into  his  mind.  In  a  subdued  tone 
he  inquired  how  Capt.  Benner  had  discovered 
his  cousin.  He  was  told  in  a  very  few  words 
what  the  reader  knows  concerning  the  affair. 
Ernest  relapsed  into  silence,  and  bitterly  re- 
proached himself  for  his  lack  of  confidence  in 
the  kind  Heavenlj  Father.  Here  God  was 
bringing  the  blind  by  a  way  they  knew  not, 


A   REMARKABLE   EVENT.  271 

and  was  preparing  deliverance,  while  lie  had 
been  indulging  in  harsh  reflections  toward  the 
Giver  of  all  good.  It  was  a  lesson  which  he 
never  forgot.  [  From  that  moment  he  became 
a  firm  believer  in  the  doctrines  of  grace  as 
held  by  the  Presbyterian  Church.  / 

We  hope  we  are  not  taking  undue  advan- 
tage of  any  interest  that  may  be  excited  by 
the  present  story  to  give  undeserved  promi- 
nence to  the  Presbyterian  Church.  The  effect 
which  her  doctrines  have  upon  individual  and 
national  character  is  admitted  by  thoughtful 
historians.  Buckle,  in  his  History  of  Civiliza- 
tion, does  justice  to  them.  Accordingto  him, 
they  are  better  adapted  to  democratic  insti- 
tutions than  any  other  published  creeds.  It 
will  be  found  that  those  who  have  believed  in 
these  doctrines,  which  some  people  call  "  hor- 
rible," have  ever  been  the  most  stubborn,  un- 
compromising advocates  of  human  rights. 
They  have  been  foremost  in  all  the  great  con- 
flicts for  freedom.  These  same  doctrines  un- 
derlaid the  Reform  ation  of  the  16th  century, 
as  is  evident  to  the  most  cursory  reader.  We 
are,  by  no  means,  attempting  to  disparage 
other  Churches,  but  our  present  undertaking 
will  not  allow  us  to  point  out  their  excellences. 


272  DEEP   WATEES. 

We  will  now  proceed  with  the  story.  We 
need  not  detail  the  conversation  which 
took  place  among  the  trio,  nor  attempt  to  de- 
scribe the  happiness  of  the  two  who  were  in 
the  greatest  danger.  Ernest  was  so  over- 
whelmed by  this  evident  demonstration  of 
divine  providence  that  he  did  not  have  much 
to  say.  He  was  thinking.  Mildred  acted  as 
though  she  were  not  greatly  surprised.  She 
had  sent  up  many  earnest  prayers  to  the 
Throne  of  Grace  and  she  was  not  astounded 
that  her  petitions  were  answered. 

"Well,"  said  Benner,  presently,  when  it 
was  time  to  bring  the  interview  to  an  end, 
"you must  leave  about  12  o'clock,  when  most 
honest  people  are  asleep.  I  will  see  that  the 
way  is  clear  in  the  hotel.  You  must  both  be 
dressed  as  union  soldiers,  at  least  till  you  get 
to  the  forests.  I  will  have  the  clothing  here 
in  time." 

Capt.  Benner  then  left,  but  returned  at  30 
minut^es  past  11  o'clock.  Mildred  and  Ernest 
were  soon  transformed  into  Federal  soldiers, 
at  least,  in  appearance.  Each  was  armed  with 
a  musket,  and  no  one,  without  an  unusually 
close  inspection,  would  have  supposed  they 
were  other  than  they  appeared  to  be.  And 
now  all  was  ready. 


A   EEMARKABLE  EVENT.  273 

As  the  clock  struck  12,  two  Federal  soldiers 

issued  from hotel,  and  walked  leisurely 

along  the  streets.  In  a  short  time  they  left 
the  lamps  glimmering  in  the  distance,  and 
plunged  into  the  darkness  of  the  forest.  Two 
miles  from  the  city  they  mounted  their  horses 
which  had  been  left  in  the  care  of  a  friend. 

Early  the  next  day,  they  suddenly  ran  upon 
a  union  soldier,  who  was  a  vidette.  This 
route  had  not  been  occupied  by  Federal  sol- 
diers before,  as  it  was  scarcely  anything  more 
than  a  path.  The  young  people  were  very 
much  surprised,  but  Ernest  in  an  instant  re- 
covered his  self-possession,  and  decided  upon 
his  plan  of  action.  He  was  still  dressed  in  the 
Federal  uniform,  and  had  his  musket,  be- 
sides his  own  pistol.  They  came  upon  the 
soldier  in  a  sudden  turn  of  the  path,  and  were 
within  a  few  paces  of  him  before  they  discov- 
ered him.  The  vidette,  taking  Ernest  to  be 
what  this  garb  indicated,  without  raising  his 
gun,  called  out : 

"  Halt !  who  goes  there  ?  " 

He  had  barely  uttered  the  words  before 
Ernest  leveled  his  gun,  and  exclaimed  : 

"  Surrender ! " 

"Who  are  you?"  cried  the  astounded  sol- 
dier. 


274  DEEP   WATERS. 

"Drop  your  gun,"  exclaimed  Ernest  sternly, 
"  or  I  shall  kill  you." 

The  amazed  vidette,  perceiving  that  resist- 
ance would  be  in  vain,  let  his  gun  drop  to  the 
earth. 

"  Now,"  said  Ernest,  "  I  have  no  disposition 
to  harm  you.  All  we  want  is  to  pass  you. 
Are  you  willing  to  let  us  go  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  hinder  you,"  asked  the  soldier 
"when  I  am  disarmed  ? " 

"But  you  must  promise  not  to  pursue   us." 

"Where  are  you  going?"  asked  the  sol- 
dier. 

"  That  is  my  business,"  replied  Ernest. 

"  Certainly.     I  promise  then." 

"  Promise,"  said  Ernest,  "  that  you  will  re- 
main on  your  horse  for  fifteen  minutes,  and 
not  touch  that  gun,  and  will  give  no  alarm 
after  we  are  gone." 

"  I  promise,"  answered  the  soldier. 

"  To  make  assurance  doubly  sure,"  contin- 
ued Ernest,  "I  will  take  your  cartridges. 

"0,  don't  do  that,"  begged  the  vidette. 
"  I  will  promise  just  as  you  want  me  to." 

"Why  are  you  so  opposed  to  giving  up 
your  cartridges  ? " 

"  Because  I  am  accountable  for  them.  I 
don't    intend    to    say   anything    about    this 


A   EEMAEKABLE   EVENT.  275 

affair,  because  the  boys  would  laugh  at  me, 
audi  might  be  punished  too.  Just  go,  and 
get  out  of  the  way  as  quick  as  you  can,  and  I 
give  you  my  word  of  honor  that  you  shall 
not  hear  another  word  from  me.  But  how  am 
I  to   account  for  the  loss  of  my  cartridges  ?  " 

"  You  seem  to  be  honest,"  said  Ernest,  "and 
I  believe  I  will  try  you." 

The  two  immediately  rode  on,  and  the  sol- 
dier kept  his  word,  so  far  as  Ernest  knew. 

That  morning,  while  Mildred  and  Ernest 
were  making  their  escape,  the  first  passers-by 
saw  a  long  rope,  reaching   from   the   corner 

room  of  the  fourth  story  of  hotel,    down 

to  the  pavement  below.  They  knew  not  what 
it  meant.  About  9  o'clock  though,  when  the 
Court-Martial  sent  for  the  female  prisoner, 
it  was  discovered  that  the  "  bird  had  flown." 
The  sentinel,  who  had  been  stationed  at  the 
door  about  twelve  o'clock,  could  give  no  ac- 
count of  the  escape.  The  door  was  locked, 
and  he  heard  nothing.  It  was  presently 
noised  abroad  that  the  lady  spy  had  escaped, 
and  soon  hundreds  of  people  gathered  in  the 
streets,  looked  up  at  the  dangling  rope,  and 
wondered  how  a  lady  could  have  climbed 
down  such  a  fearful  distance.      The  general 


276  DEEP   WATERS. 

opinion  was  that  slie  was  a  brave,  daring 
woman,  who  was  confined  to  this  one  mode  of 
escape.  "  Of  course,"  they  said,  "  she  had 
friends  in  the  city,  who  assisted  lier  in  the 
perilous  undertaking."  At  any  rate,  she  was 
gone.  The  chief  clerk  at  the  hotel,  who  had 
been  instrumental  in  her  arrest,  was  not  of 
the  rabid  class  who  regretted  her  timely  flight. 
"  I  don't  care,"  he  said  with  a  smile.  ''I  don't 
believe  she  was  a  spy  anyhow.  Even  if  she 
was,  and  they  had  hanged  her,  I  believe  I 
should  have  felt  guilty  of  murder." 

Nothing  more  was  ever  found  out  about  it, 
and  Capt.  Benner  bore  the  character  of  a  true 
and  loyal  soldier  till  the  horrid  war  came  to 
an  end.  Some  years  afterwards  he  met  Mil- 
dred, and  laughingly  explained  his  scheme, 
remarking  that,  "people  might  have  had 
sense  enough  to  know  that  she  could  not  have 
escaped  in  that  way." 

"Possibly  I  might,  though,"  she  said. 
"  There  is  no  telling  what  one  can  do,  when 
life  depends  upon  it."  And  she  laughed  as 
she  thought  of  how  she  would  have  appeared, 
dangling  by  her  hands  on  a  rope  between 
heaven  and  earth. 


CHAPTER  XYI. 


,A  CONFEDERATE  MARRIAGE. 


We  now  return  to  our  two  fugitives.  They 
met  with  no  other  adventure,  and  arrived  that 
evening  at  Dr.  xlrrington's  residence.  The 
old  gentleman  would  have  gone  into  Wash- 
ington himself  when  Mildred  was  arrested, 
but  Ernest  persuaded  him  to  remain  at  home 
with  his  family,  promising  to  promptly  inform 
him  if  his  presence  should  become  necessary. 

It  is  impossible  to  portray  the  scene  which 
occurred  when  the  two  rode  up  and  alighted. 
Mrs.  Arrington,  who  had  been  almost  broken- 
hearted, could  not  control  her  feelings  in  the 
transition  from  despair  to  joy.  This  arrival 
was  like  the  coming  back  of  the  dead.  The 
good  lady  must  cry  aloud.  The  Doctor  was 
more  calm,  but  the  tears  gently  coursed  down 
his  cheek  in  gratitude  to  God  for  the  restora- 
tion of  his  child.  It  was  an  hour  or  more 
before  the  family  equilibrium  approximated 
its  normal  condition  sufficiently  to  admit  of 

277 


278  DEEP    WATERS. 

tranquil  conversation.  After  a  while  the 
Doctor   said: 

"  We  must  now  have  a  special  service — a 
service  of  gratitude,  for  I  feel  that  my  many 
earnest  j)rayers  have  been  answered." 

Tlie  family  assembled  in  the  parlor,  and 
the  Doctor  selected  some  portions  of  Scripture 
suitable  to  the  occasion,  and  all  humbly  and 
reverently  bowed  upon  their  knees.  Such  an 
out-pouring  of  thanksgiving  never  before  was 
witnessed  around  that  altar.  This  was  a 
family  of  faith.  They  regarded  God  as  the 
source  of  every  blessing.  The  Doctor  had  no 
more  doubt  that  God  had  restored  his  child, 
in  answer  to  prayer,  than  he  had  of  his  own 
existence.  Ernest,  however,  who  loved  to 
hear  the  old  man  defend  his  position,  sug- 
gested that  the  same  thing  might  have  hap- 
pened if  there  had  been  no  prayers  in  the 
case. 

"  I  am  surprised  at  you,"  answered  the  Doc- 
tor. "  I  do  not  know  that  I  ever  saw  the  hand 
of  God  more  clearly  revealed  in  my  affairs." 

''  But  still,"  said  Ernest,  "  does  it  not  all 
appear  natural?  Your  nephew  was  in  the 
city,  and  heaiing  of  his  cousin's  imprison- 
ment, what  is  more  natural  than  that  he 
should  lestore  her  to  liberty  ?" 


A    CONFEDERATE   MARRIAGE.  279 

"I  remember,"  said  Mrs.  Arrington,  "how 
we  were  all  distressed  when  we  heard  that 
Will  had  joined  the  Northern  army.  Little 
did  we  think  that  Mildred's  life  depended 
upon  it.     How  short  sighted  we  are !" 

"And  suppose,"  said  the  Doctor,  "that 
Will  had  not  been  in  the  court-room  when  the 
officer  made  the  remark  about  her  trial.  You 
told  us  of  this  a  while  ago.  This  might  have 
appeared  accidental,  but  still  it  happened 
exactly  at  the  right  time.  Suppose  Will  had 
not  gone  into  that  room  at  the  moment  he  did, 
the  trial  would  have  ended  the  next  day,  and 
Mildred  in  all  probability,  would  have  never 
been  sent  back  to  the  hotel,  but  to  a  dismal 
felon's  cell  to  await  her  execution,  and  then 
Will  would  not  have  been  able  to  release 
her." 

"  You  say,  Doctor,"  answered  Ernest,  "  that 
these  things  happened  at  the  right  time.  Sup- 
pose this  deliverance  had  occurred  earlier, 
what  difference  would  it  have  made  ?" 

"  We  do  not  understand  all  God's  ways 
and  purposes,"  replied  the  Doctor ;  "  but  grant- 
ing that  this  deliverance  had  occurred  two  or 
three  days  earlier,  you  would  not  have  been 
present  to  give  your  assistance.     Then   sup- 


280  DEEP   WATERS. 

pose  Mildred  had  tried  to  make  lier  way  alone, 
she  might  have  been  re-captured  by  that 
vidette  you  told  us  about.  I  do  not  see  how 
you  can  fail  to  recognize  divine  providence  in 
all  this." 

''  I  do  recognize  it  fully,"  replied  Ernest. 
"  You  must  not  think.  Doctor,  that  I  am  dis- 
posed to  doubt  a  supernatural  providence. 
One  reason  why  I  asked  the  question  which  I 
did  was  to  get  yoar  views.  I  wanted  to  hear 
you  point  out  the  particulars  as  3^ou  have 
done.  I  am  glad  to  say  that  this  severe  trial 
has  proved  beneficial  to  me.  I  do  not  think  I 
will  ever  again  be  as  skeptical  as  I  have  been. 
I  have  had  a  lesson." 

"  Let  it  be  a  lesson  to  us  all,"  answered  the 
Doctor,  "  ever  to  have  implicit  faith  in  God." 

The  next  day  Ernest  requested  a  private 
interview  with  the  Doctor.  They  met  in  the 
study,  and  Ernest  said : 

"I  must  return  soon  to  the  army,  and,  to 
make  a  long  story  short,  I  have  come  to  ask 
you  to  perform  the  marriage  (.eremony  for  me 
and  Mildred  to-day." 

"Today!"  exclaimed  the  Doctor  in  sur- 
prise. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  why  not  ?" 


A    CONFEDEEATE   MARRIAGE.  281 

"  I  do  not  suppose  she  is  ready,"  said  tlie 
Doctor. 

"It  will  not  take  long  to  get  ready,"  re- 
marked Ernest.  "  People  do  not  expect  grand 
weddings  such  times  as  these." 

"  No  ;  but  what  put  this  sudden  notion  into 
your  head?"  asked  the  Doctor  a  little  bluntly. 

''We  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
there  is  no  use  waiting  any  longer." 

"Well,  if  it  is  Mildred's  wish,"  replied  the 
Doctor  thoiightfully,  "I  shall  interpose  no 
objection." 

Accordingly,  that  very  evening  a  few  friends 
assembled  at  the  Doctor's  residence,  and  at 
8  o'clock  Ernest  and  Mildred  were  pronounced 
"  husband  and  wife." 

During  those  times  young  people  entered 
into  the  marriage  relation  without  much  cere- 
mony, and  upon  short  notice.  In  many  parts 
of  the  country  it  was  impossible  to  procure 
suitable  "  wedding  garments,"  and  the  soldiers 
frequently  married  in  their  ordinary  uniforms. 

Ernest  remained  with  his  bride  three  or  four 
days,  and  then  started  "off  to  the  wars" 
again.  It  was  a  great  and  severe  trial  to  the 
two  young  people  to  separate.  They  might 
never    meet    again   in    this   world.    Many  a 


282  DEEP    WATERS. 

young  man  left  Ms  young  wife,  and  in  a  few 
days  afterwards  he  was  slumbering  in  tlie 
soldier's  bloody  grave. 

"Mildred,"  said  Ernest  in  a  husky  tone, 
"  pray  for  me.     I  have  faith  in  your  prayers.' 

"Do  not  doubt  my  praying  for  you,"  she 
said,  while  tears  glistened  in  her  eyes.  "  You 
will  never  be  out  of  my  mind  a  moment." 

"It  does  look  hard,"  said  Ernest,  "that  we 
should  be  separated  by  the  yawning  gulf  of 
war  just  as  we  are  upon  the  threshold  of  life. 
I  never  knew  the  depth  of  my  affection  for 
you  till  now." 

"  You  will  not  suffer,  after  all,  as  I  shall," 
replied  Mildred.  "  You  will  have  the  exciting 
scenes  of  war  to  occupy  your  thoughts,  and  I 
shall  have  nothing  to  think  about  but  you. 
O,  the  long  weary  days  that  must  pass  away ! 
I  sliall  think  of  you  as  constantly  exposed  to 
dangers." 

And  so  they  separated,  both  saying  in  their 
hearts,  as  they  went  their  respective  ways : 

"  O,  shall  we  ever  meet  again  V 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


PEACE. 


The  frightful  clouds  of  war  have  rolled  away. 
The  smoke  of  battle  has  dissolved  into  the 
darkness  of  the  Past.  The  blood- spots  have 
been  washed  out  by  the  rains  and  dews  of 
heaven.  Blessed  Peace  spreads  out  her  snow- 
white  pinions,  dripping  balm  for  wounded 
hearts,  from  the  granite  hills  of  New  England 
to  the  smiling  prairies  of  the  Lone  Star  State. 
The  little  hillocks  of  earth  that  rise  up  all  over 
the  South  mark  the  gory  fields  where  the 
enraged  warriors  met  in  the  death-straggle. 
We  can  again  re-visit  the  awful  spots  where 
once  the  earth  groaned  under  the  tread  of  men 
and  horses  rushing  head- long  to  the  fray,  and 
we  can  call  up  the  phantom  forms,  and  make 
them  re-enact  the  bloody  tragedies  of  battle  in 
solemn  silence.  The  gloomy  cedar-brakes  of 
Murfreesboro,  the  plateau  of  Bull  Run,  the 
dark  stream  of  Chickamauga,  the  rugged 
Mount  that  looks  down  upon  Chattanooga,  the 

283 


284  DEEP   WATERS. 

black  hills  of  Vicksburg,  pock-marked  by  the 
shells  of  a  fifty-days'  siege — are  all  there  yet, 
dumb  witnesses  to  the  ferocit}^  of  human  pas- 
sions. To-day,  at  all  these,  and  many  other 
places,  we  can  take  the  torch  of  history,  and 
relight  the  terrible  scenes  enacted  in  the  now 
silent  past.  We  see  long  lines  of  soldiers 
start  up  in  battle  array,  grasping  the  deadly 
musket,  and  solemnly  preparing  to  die,  in  that 
ominous  lull  Avhich  always  precedes  the  mighty 
shock  of  battle.  There  is  a  strange  silence. 
The  very  forests  seem  to  be  holding  their 
breath  in  expectation  of  a  storm  more  awful 
than  the  cyclone  of  nature.  What  is  it  ?  The 
awful  pause  of  Death. 

Presently  a  single  gun  breaks  the  oppressive 
silence.  The  work  of  destruction  begins. 
Heavy  volumes  of  smoke  rise  up  all  over  the 
forests.  Men  on  horse-back  are  seen  flying  in 
every  direction.  One  remarkable  man,  clad  in 
a  red  flannel  shirt,  symbolical  of  the  fierce 
spirit  within,  is  seen  galloping  from  one  scene 
of  carnage  to  another,  under  the  inspiration  of 
a  couragQ  that  never  failed.  At  last,  he  reels 
and  falls,  and  the  fiery  form  of  A.  P.  Hill 
disappears  from  the  scenes  of  history  forever. 

It  is  remarkable  that  Lee  and  Jackson  in 


PEACE.  285 

their  last  moments  ou  earth,  when  they  were 
unconscious  of  all  temporal  things,  and  their 
imaginations  were  roving  lawlessly  over  the 
gory  fields  where  they  had  been  such  promi- 
nent actors,  both  called  for  A.  P.  Hill.  It  is  a 
high  compliment  to  the  hero's  military  genius. 
But  Jackson  himself  went  down  in  the  thun- 
dering cyclone  of  war,  and  was  seen  no  more. 
Alas  !  such  men  as  these  had  to  be  swept  from 
the  path  of  destiny  before  the  divine  purpose 
could  be  accomplished.  We  mourn  for  our 
fallen  braves,  and  yet  we  thank  God  that  such 
scenes  as  gave  them  undying  fame  have  ceased, 
we  hope,  forever,  in  these  States  now  cemented 
with  intermingling  fraternal  blood  ! 

One  bright  morning  in  April,  1865,  the  mem- 
bers of  Dr.  Arrington's  family  were  all  seated 
around  the  breakfast  table.  Every  face  wore 
a  sad,  anxious  expression.  The  news  of  Lee's 
surrender,  which  some  doubted,  had  been 
received,  but  not  the  particulars  of  his  last 
battle.  Who  had  fallen  ?  Mildred  looked  at 
the  smoking  dishes,  but  could  not  eat.  Where 
was  Ernest  ?  She  had  seen  him  but  three  or 
four  times  since  their  marriage,  and*  he  had 
been  in  all  of  Lee's  battles.  O,  could  it  be 
possible  that  he  had  been  killed  in  the  last 
fight  ?    The  thought  made  her  shudder. 


286  jyKKT    WATERS. 

"Why  do  you  not  eat?"  asked  the  Doctor 
kindly. 

"How  can  I,  father?"  Mildred  answered 
sadly.  "I  am  heart-sick.  This  suspense  is 
awful." 

"  Have  faith  in  God,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  The 
last  time  we  heard  from  Ernest  he  was  well. 
What  reason  have  you  to  suppose  he  is 
otherwise  now?  " 

"  There  has  been  a  battle  or  two  since  then, 
and  some  are  killed  in  every  fight." 

"Do  not  anticipate,  my  child.  Never  make 
trouble  for  yourself.  What  is  the  use  of  griev- 
ing over  imaginary  calamities  ? " 

"  I  know,  father,  that  you  are  right ;  but  it 
is  so  hard  to  be  perfectly  resigned  to  God's 
will." 

"  You  have  not  ascertained  what  God's  will 
is  in  this  instance ;  but  even  should  it  be  that 
which  you  dread,  I  do  not  deny  that  it  will  be 
hard  to  bear.  It  is  natural  for  us  to  think  that 
God  should  let  us  have  our  way  in  some  things 
at  least.  But  we  should  never  forget  that  God 
knows  what  is  best  for  us,  and  He  always  does 
the  best  for  ns,  if  we  put  ourselves  unreservedly 
in  His  hands." 

"I  know  that  is    true,"    replied    Mildred. 


PEACE.  287 

"  But,  sometimes  I  am  rebellious.  "If  Ernest 
does  not  come  bacl^,"  slie  continued  in  quiver- 
ing tones,  "  it  seems  to  me  I  can  never  again 
be  happy  in  this  vsrorld." 

"'  Then  be  happy  !"  exclaimed  a  voice  at  the 
door.  Mildred  instantly  looked  up,  gave  a 
little  scream  of  joy,  sprang  from  her  seat,  and 
was  locked  in  Ernest's  arms.  What  a  transi- 
tion !  We  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  it. 
There  are  some  emotions  of  the  human  heart 
that  are  beyond  the  reach  of  words.  They  are 
too  sacred  and  deep  to  be  expressed  by  human 
language.  Every  trace  of  sadness  immediately 
vanished  from  Mildred's  face,  which  was  lit  up 
with  a  holy  joy  and  peace  that  made  her  look 
radiant.  Presently  when  there  was  compara- 
tive quiet,  the  Doctor  said  : 

"  Well,  has  Lee  really  surrendered  ?" 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  he  has,"  replied  Ernest. 
"Here  is  my  discharge  from  the  service." 

"  And  you  have  not  been  wounded,"  asked 
Mildred,  "  since  you  were  home  last  ? " 

"  I  have  not  received  a  graze,"  he  replied. 

"Well,"  she  said  with  tears  springing  into 
her  eyes,  "  let  me  go  to  my  room,  and  return 
thanks  to  God,  and  ask  His  forgiveness  for  my 
thoughts.    I  cannot  eat  till  I  do." 


288  DEEP   WATEES. 

As  she  went  out  Mrs.  Arrington  said: 

"  You  have  a  treasure,  Ernest,  in  that  girl, 
if  I  do  say  it  myself." 

^'  I  am  well  aware  of  that,  Madam,  and  I  am 
indebted  to  the  war  for  it.  I  have  learned  that 
God  brings  good  out  of  evil.  I  never  would 
have  heard  of  Mildred,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
battle  of  Manassas.  I  am  sorry,  though,  our 
cause  is  lost." 

"But  it  is  God's  will,"  quickly  spoke  up  the 
Doctor,  "  and  we  should  be  thankful  that  it  is 
no  worse." 

"I  am  sure  it  is  bad  enough,"  replied 
Ernest.     "  We  have  lost  our  independence." 

"  It  may  appear  to  you  to  be  a  great  cala- 
mity," said  the  Doctor,  "but  I  have  no  doubt 
it  is  a  blessing  in  disguise.  Two  different 
governments  could  not  exist  in  this  glorious 
land  of  ours.  I  have  never  believed  that  we 
would  succeed.  I  was  fearful  that  we  were  in 
the  wrong.  But  it  is  in  vain  to  discuss  such 
questions  now.  All  is  over,  and  we  must  sub- 
mit. '  Promotion  cometh  neither  from  the  East 
nor  the  West,  but  God  setteth  up  one,  and 
pulleth  down  another.'  " 

Mildred  now  returned  to  the  dining-room, 
and  all  partook  of  the  meal  with  hearts  glow- 


PEACE.  289 

ing  with  gratitude.  Do  not  tlie  angels  liover 
over,  and  smile  upon,  such  a  social  scene  ? 

The  next  day  the  family  assembled  in  the 
parlor  to  hold  a  consultation,  at  the  request  of 
Ernest. 

'•  Well,"  said  the  Doctor,  smiling  upon  the 
group,  '' '  the  cruel  war  is  over,'  and  we  must 
now  all  return  to  the  blessed  arts  of  peace.  I 
suppose  you  will  resume  the  practice  of  law," 
he  continued,  turning  to  Ernest. 

"No,  1  think  not,  Doctor,"  answered  Ernest. 
"  I  called  this  family  meeting  in  order  to  lay 
my  plans  before  you.  After  my  marriage, 
when  I  returned  to  my  command  again,  I 
solemnly  promised  God  that  if  He  would  spare 
my  life,  I  would  devote  my  energies  to  His 
service  in  the  ministry.  I  am  here  alive,  with- 
out having  received  another  wound.  Now  do 
you  not  think  I  ought  to  regard  my  vows?" 

"O,  my  dear  Ernest,"  cried  Mildred  eagerly, 
"  I  have  prayed  God  to  put  it  in  your  heart  to 
become  a  minister,  and  now,  it  seems,  my 
prayer  is  answered." 

"I  did  not  know,"  said  Ernest,  "but  that 
you  might  have  an  ambition  for  something 
higher." 

"  Higher !"  exclaimed  Mildred  in  surprise. 
"  What  can  be  higher? " 


290  DEEP   WATEK8. 

"I  did  not  mean  'higher'  in  the  sense  that 
you  understand,"  replied  Ernest,  "but  the 
world,  you  know,  regards  some  other  pro- 
fessions as  hio;her." 

"  But  the  ministry  is  not  a  profession,"  an- 
swered Mildred.  "I  cannot  imagine  what 
greater  honor  a  human  being  can  enjoy  than 
to  be  called  to  do  God's  work." 

"  I  have  now  no  greater  ambition  myself 
than  to  be  an  humble  minister  of  the  gospel," 
replied  Ernest. 

"  It  is  well,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  that  yon  em- 
ploy the  word  humble.  I  am  sorry  to  say 
that  there  are  ambitious  men  in  the  Church 
who  desire  to  acquire  great  reputation  as 
preachers,  and  who  seek  after  high  places  in 
the  Church.  I  hope  you  have  no  such  dispo- 
sition as  that?" 

"  No,  Doctor,  if  I  know  my  own  heart.  I 
desire  to  be  useful." 

"  Let  us  be  plain,"  continued  the  Doctor, 
"  that  you  may  not,  in  the  future,  regret  the 
step  you  have  taken.  Be  sure  that  you  are 
influenced  by  the  proper  motives.  I  hope  you 
have  not  entered  into  a  sOrt  of  contract  with 
the  Lord — that  is,  you  do  not  propose  to  be- 
come a  minister  because  God  has  brought  you 
safe  out  of  the  war?  " 


PEACE.  291 

"No,  sir;  I  firmly  "believe  I  was  called 
years  ago,  but  I  resisted.  I  think  I  would 
have  been  a  preacher  if  there  had  been  no 
war.  But  probably  the  war  has  caused  me  to 
enter  it  sooner  than  I  might  have  done  other- 
wise." 

"You  feel,  then,  that  it  is  your  duty  to 
preach?"  asked  the  Doctor. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  do." 

"  Then,  there  is  no  more  to  be  said  about 
it,"  answered  the  Doctor.  The  sooner  you 
begin  the  better.  I  believe  I  have  not  asked 
you  under  what  ecclesiastical  auspices  you 
propose  to  preach?  " 

"  The  Presbyterian,  of  course,"  said  Ernest 
with  a  smile.  "  I  suppose  my  dear  Mildred 
would  hardly  consent  to  anything  else." 

"  O,  I  am  not  so  prejudiced  as  all  that,"  an- 
swered Mildred  laughing.  "  If  you  felt  it 
your  duty  to  attach  yourself  to  any  other 
orthodox  Church,  I  should  not  oppose  you. 
But  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  love  my  Church  to 
such  an  extent  that  I  could  never  be  happy  in 
any  other,  and  I  never  could  feel  the  same  zeal 
in  another." 

"  Mildred  is  a  true  blue,"  said  the  Doctor 
with  a  laugh,  "  and  I  am  glad  to  think  you 
will  find  her  a  useful  helpmeet  in  your  work." 


292  DEEP   WATERS. 

"I  expect  she  will  make  a  better  pastor 
than  I,"  said  Ernest,  "fori  am  not  as  social 
as  she  is.  I  fear  that  this  thing  of  visiting 
will  be  the  most  troublesome  duty  I  shall  have 
to  perform." 

"  People  will  require  a  great  deal  of  you  in 
that  respect,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  You  will  find 
that  most  of  them  wish  you  to  visit  them  not 
on  account  of  their  spiritual  interests  :  but  it 
is  the  social  feature  they  regard.  I  have 
noticed  that  most  Presbyterian  ministers  are 
more  reserved  in  their  manners  than  those  of 
some  other  denominations.  This  is,  no  doubt, 
to  be  attributed  to  the  long  course  of  mental 
discipline  to  which  they  are  subjected.  They 
acquire  the  habit  of  solitary  study  till  the 
social  feature  of  their  nature  is  considerably 
impaired.  On  this  account  I  have  known  some 
ministers  to  be  accused  of  stiffness,  pride  and 
formality,  who  were  humble,  godly  men.  They 
really  did  not  understand  the  demands  of 
social  etiquette.  You  will  have  to  cultivate 
this  feature." 

"  What  is  the  use  of  social  visiting,  Doctor?" 

"Whether  there  is  use  in  it  or  not,  people 
require  it,"  replied  the  Doctor.  "You  will 
find  some  of  them  very  unreasonable.  They 
will  complain  if  you  do  not  call  every  week." 


PEACE. 

"  How  then,  shall  I  ever  find  time  to  study  ?" 
asked  Ernest. 

''You  must  take  it.  You  can  not  please 
everybody,  try  never  so  hard." 

And  for  a  long  time  the  Doctor  gave  the 
young  man  excellent  advice,  which  we  need 
not  detail,  as  it  would  be  of  no  great  interest 
to  the  general  reader.  Besides,  we  are  well 
aware,  that  people  do  not  read  a  story  for  the 
sake  of  the  moral,  but  for  their  own  enter- 
tainment. So  we  shall  proceed,  at  once,  to 
relate  the  most  interesting  events  of  Ernest's 
life. 

The  next  month,  the  Presbytery  of 

met,  and  received  Ernest  under  its  care.  In- 
stead of  going  to  a  Seminary,  it  was  allowed 
him  to  take  a  course  of  Theological  study 
under  the  tuition  of  Dr.  Arrington.  At  the 
expiration  of  a  year  he  stood  his  examination, 
and  having  received  a  call  from  the  Presbyte- 
rian church  in  his  own  town,  he  was  regularly 
ordained  a  minister  of  the  gospel.  His  trial 
sermon  aroused  universal  wonder  and  admira- 
tion. The  people  had  rarely  ever  witnessed 
such  oratorical  power  in  the  pulpit.  Every 
one  predicted  for  him  a  brilliant  career  of  use- 
fulness. No  young  minister  ever  entered 
upon  his  work  with  more  flattering  prospects. 


294  DEEP  WATERS. 

Ernest  was  praised  and  complimented  suffi- 
ciently to  have  turned  an  older  head,  but  he 
now  possessed  too  much  of  the  grace  of 
humility  to  be  affected  by  human  applause. 
The  great  object  with  him  was  the  approval  of 
the  Master  and  his  own  conscience.  With  the 
settlement  of  Ernest  in  his  charge  it  might 
seem  that  our  story  had  reached  a  point  at 
which  it  could  properly  and  happily  be 
brought  to  an  end,  but  we  have  other  interest- 
ing events  yet  to  relate. 


CHAPTER  XVm. 


THE  DRUNKARD. 


Ernest  entered  upon  his  work  in  two  or  three 
weeks  after  his  ordination.  This  was  the  iirst 
time  he  had  seen  his  native  town  since  he 
left  it  in  1861.  Things  had  undergone  a  great 
change  during  the  four  years  of  war.  The 
prosperity  of  the  place  was  a  thing  of  the 
past.  Many  wealthy  families  had  been  re- 
duced to  abject  beggary.  Old  Mr.  Yanclure 
had  died  in  1862,  and  his  son-in-law  had  ad- 
ministered upon  his  estate.  If  Comston  had 
been  a  man  of  moral  habits,  he  could  have 
saved  a  handsome  property  for  his  wife,  but 
he  was  dissipated,  and  was  passionately  ad- 
dicted to  gambling.  He  had  pursued  a  course 
during  the  war  which  had  brought  him  into 
disgrace,  having  avoided  conscription  by 
hiding  in  the  cane-brakes.  When  the  war 
came  to  an  end,  he  found  himself  in  possession 
of  only  three  thousand  dollars.  By  judicious 
management  of  even  this  amount,  he  might 

295 


296  DEEP  WATERS. 

have  gained  an  honorable  livelihood ;  but  he 
soon  lost  it  all  at  the  gambling  table.  Finally, 
he  became  a  sot. 

Poor  Clara  had  to  resort  to  her  needle  for 
bread,  and  she  gained  only  a  precarious, 
scanty  subsistence  for  herself  and  her  unworthy 
husband,  who  sometimes  spent  her  hard  earn- 
ings for  drink. 

Affairs  were  in  this  condition  when  Ernest 
returned  to  his  native  town  to  take  charge  of 
the  church.  As  soon  as  he  had  heard  of 
Clara's  misfortunes,  he  called  to  see  her.  He 
met  with  a  cold  reception,  for  she  had  become 
hardened.  But  by  kindness,  he  soon  induced 
her  to  talk  freely.     Presently  she  said : 

"  I  know  you  think  I  made  a  great  blunder." 

"How? "asked  Ernest  timidly,  suspecting 
what  she  was  going  to  say. 

"  In  my  marriage,"  she  answered  with  de- 
cided emphasis.  "You  know  that  I  rejected 
you.     Are  you  not  glad  to  see  me  humbled  ?  " 

"  God  forbid !  "  exclaimed  Ernest  energeti- 
cally. "I  sympathize  with  you.  The  good 
Lord  knows  I  am  sorry  for  you." 

"  They  tell  me  you  are  a  preacher  now  ? " 

"  It  is  true,  I  am  glad  to  say." 

"  0,"    she    exclaimed   suddenly,    *'  I    wish 


THE  DEUNKAED.  297 

Xerxes  were  a  preacher — yes,  anything  than 
what  he  is.  I  reckon  you've  heard  all  about 
him." 

"  I  have  heard  some  things,"  replied  Ernest. 

"He  has  got  to  be  a  regular  drunkard," 
she  said,  "  and  I  am  tired  of  him.  He  treats 
me  cruelly.  I  think  he  once  loved  me,  and  I 
could  have  lived  happily  with  him,  but  he  got 
to  drinking,  and  that  has  proved  his  ruin.  He 
is  not  the  same  man." 

"I  am  truly  sorry  for  you,"  replied  Ernest. 
"But  you  are  not  without  hope." 

"Where  is  there  any  hope  for  me?"  she 
cried.     "  I  never  expect  to  be  happy  again." 

"  You  can  be,  if  you  will,"  said  Ernest 
solemnly,  as  he  looked  pityingly  at  the  sad 
woman. 

"  How  can  I  ?    I  should  like  to  know." 

"  There  is  a  happiness,"  answered  Ernest, 
"  far  superior  to  any  this  world  affords." 

"  Where  is  it?  "  she  cried. 

"  In  Christ  Jesus." 

"  Yes,  I  expected  you  to  say  that,  or  some- 
thing like  it.  But  how  could  I  be  a  Christian, 
miserable  and  wretched  as  I  am  ?  " 

"  The  Lord  never  turns  away  any  who  come 
to  Him,"  replied  Ernest. 


298  DEEP   WATERS. 

"  But  I'm  not  ready  for  that  yet,"  she  said 
with  candor.  "  I  want  to  enjoy  the  world  for 
a  while.  I  think  I  deserve  it.  If  I  had  not 
married,  I  might  have  been  happy,  but  it  is 
impossible  now,  with  such  ahusbandasmine." 

At  this  moment,  Comston  came  from  town, 
and  staggered  into  the  room.  Clara  blushed 
with  shame  and  vexation,  but  recovering  her- 
self, looked  at  him  without  uttering  a  word. 

"  Why,  how  d'ye  do,  Edgefield,"  he  exclaim- 
ed in  a  boisterous  tone,  andwith  the  drunkard's 
slow  stammering  and  stuttering.  ''It's  the 
first — first  time — I've  met  ye — since  you — you 
— er  got  back  from  the — er  wars.  How  you 
make  it — er  now,  ole  feller,  eh  ?  " 

"  O,  I  am  in  good  health,"  said  Ernest,  dryly. 

'•  Well,  I'm — er  truly  glad  to  give  you — er 
— er  the  right  hand — er  of — er  welcome. 
Would  you — er  'a  known  this  'er — er  little 
^oman — er  of  mine,  at — er  first  sight,  eh  ?  She 
used  ter — er — er  be  right  down — er  good  look 
in' — but — er  the  last  year — er  she's — er  begun 
— ter  break — er  little — yes— er  you  see,  eh  ? 
Arn't  it  so,  Clarer,  eh?  You  see — er  the  cruel 
war — er  broke  us  up,  like  it  did — er  every- 
body else — er." 

"  Yes,"  said  Ernest,  more  to  relieve  Clara  of 


THE   DRUITKARD.  299 

embarrassment  than  to  keep  up  a  conversation 
witli  a  foolish  inebriate,  "  the  war  proved  dis- 
astrous to  most  of  our  people." 

"  Indeed — er  did  it.  I  lost  heavily— er — by 
it — myself — ruined — dead  broke — er — brought 
down — er  to — er  abject  pov — er — er — tee — er, 
as  the— saying  is — er.  Cruel — thing — it  was. 
I — er  didn't  have — er — much  to  do — er — with 
it — you  see — er, — eh?  I  was — er  long-head- 
ed— I  saw  how  the — er — thing— was  agoin', 
an' — er — I  tried  ter — save  my  scalp — eh? 
I  told  Clarer — there  was'nt — any  use — er — 
of  my — goin'.  She  was  a  great — er — patriarch 
— you  know — er — wanted — er  ter  eat  Yankees 
— up — er.  But — er  I  don't — love  that — er  sort 
of — er  flesh.  It  is — not — er — half  as  good — er 
— as  fish.  I  went — a — fishin' — most  of  the 
time,  and — er — we  had  a — jolly  time — er — we 
did.  It  was — better — than  shootin'  yex — feller 
— man  in — er  cold — blood.  The  Yankees — had 
— never  done  me — any  harm, — an'  I  could'nt 
make — up  my  mind  ter — murder  'em — 'thout 
provocation — you  see,  eh  ?  But  I  hear — you've 
got  to  be — a  preacher,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  Ernest  in  a  manner 
which  convinced  Clara  that  the  passing  scene 
was  painful  to  his  feelings.     She  could  easily 


300  DEEP   WATERS. 

perceive  that  he  was  enduring  her  maudlin 
husband  for  her  sake. 

"Well — er,"  continued  Comston,  "it's  a — 
nice — er  profession — ,  not — much — er  money 
in  it — though — eh?  Like  the  ole Injun  said- 
poor  preach — poor . pay— er.  I  don't — er  mean 
that  for  you — though — er.  You — used  ter  be 
— er — a  good  law — yer,  and — if — er  you  preach 
— as  well  as  you — talk — I  don't  see — why — er 
you  shouldn't  succeed — er.  I'm  a — comin' 
'round  to — er  hear  you  preach — er — some  Sun- 
day— if  you  don't  object — eh  ?  " 

"I  should  be  glad  to  have  you  as  one  of  my 
audience,"  replied  Ernest. 

"  We'll  make  two — er — of  iz  audience, 
won't  we,  Clarer,  eh?" 

She  made  no  reply,  but  endeavored  to  ap- 
pear as  though  she  had  not  heard  him. 

'*  IN'ow,  come,  Clarer — don't  try  to  put  on — 
airs — before  the  preacher — er.  I  ain't  jealous 
— a — bit — er.  No,  for  I  know — you  prefer  me 
— ter  all  the — er  men  on  earth,  don't  you — er, 
dear,  eh?  What — won't  you — speak  tome? 
Never  mind.  Parson,  when  you  go — er  she'll 
be  pleasant  enough.  Some — times  she  gets — 
into  one  of  her — er— contantnums  before — er 
company — and  there's  no  doin'  anything  with 


THE   DEUNKAKD.  801 

her — have  ter  let  'er  alone  till  she — sobers  up 
— er." 

''  I  must  be  going,"  suddenly  said  Ernest, 
rising.     "  I  have  some  other  calls  to  make." 

"  Thank  you  for  your  visit,"  said  Clara. 
"  Call  again  if  you  can." 

"Yes — er — come  again.  Parson, — if  I  arn't 
at  home — Clarer  will— er  entertain  you." 

Clara  left  the  parlor,  as  Ernest  did,  and 
Comston  fell  asleep  upon  a  sofa.  When  he 
awoke,  he  had  partly  emerged  from  his  state 
of  intoxication.  Arising,  and  going  into  Clara's 
room,  he  said : 

"  Had  a  nice  time  with  the  preacher,  dear  ? 
I  think,  though,  you  might  have  treated  me 
with  a  little  more  respect.  You  wouldn't 
speak  to  me.     What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  You  ha,ve  made  a  fool  of  yourself,"  cried 
Clara,  in  anger  and  vexation.     "  I  have  told 
you  I  wanted  you  to  keep  away  from  me  when 
you  are  drunk.     You  make  a  brute  of  your 
self." 

"  Why,  I  thought  I  was  entertaining  the 
minister  very  nicely.  You  wouldn't  talk  to 
him,  and  it  wouldn't  do  for  all  of  us  to  sit  still 
like  Quakers,  would  it  ?  " 

"You  made  a  complete  fool  of  yourself," 


302  DEEP    WATERS. 

slie  said  with  face  flasliing  with  anger.  "I 
am  getting  so  I  hate  you — yes,  I  hate  you." 

"Now  don't  provoke  ine,  dear.  You  know 
I  can't  control  my  savage  temper  when  I'm 
aroused.  Don't  you  remember  how  you  pro- 
voked me  the  other  day  till  I  was  about  to 
strike  you  ? " 

"Yes,  sir,  I  remember  your  brutality,  and  I 
tell  you  now  I  am  not  going  to  stand  it  much 
longer,  either." 

"  What  will  you  do?  "  asked  Comston. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  live  with  a  man  who  is 
such  a  coward  as  to  strike  a  defenceless  wo- 
man. Here  you  are  bragging  about  it,  as  if 
you  had  performed  some  wonderful  deed.  If 
you  ever  attempt  to  strike  me  again,  I  will 
leave  you — yes,  I  will  apply  for  a  divorce." 

"  0,  no,  you  wouldn't  do  that,  dear?  Who 
would  provide  for  you  ?  " 

"  Who  provides  for  me  now  ?  I  should  like 
to  know.  If  I  did  not  support  myself,  I  should 
starve.     You  know  that." 

"  Oj  no,  you  wouldn't  starve,  dear.  You've 
never  starved  yet,  have  you  ?  Do  you  'spose 
Xerxes  Comston  would  let  you  starve  ?  Nobody 
can  say  that  of  my  wife.  But,  come,  Clara, 
let's  be  friends.   I  haven't  drunk  much  to-day. 


THE   DRUNKARD.  803 

and  I'm  going  to  quit  the  business  entirely — 
you  hear  that?" 

'^  Yes  ;  I  have  heard  it  five  hundred  times. 
I  have  lost  all  confidence  in  you.  I  expect 
nothing  but  to  see  you  go  down  to  a  drunk- 
ard's grave." 

''  You  want  me  to  die  ?  0,  ho  !  ho  1  that's 
it,  is  it  2  Well  I  am  not  going  to  till  any 
drunkard's  grave.  From  now  on,  I'm  going  to 
be  a  better  man.  We'll  goto  hear  that  preach- 
er preach ;  it  will  do  us  both  good — make 
Christians  out  of  us,  I  hope.    Won't  you  go  ?" 

"  I  do  not  think,"  said  Clara  with  a  sneer, 
"that  you  will  ever  be  sober  enough  to  go." 

"Yes,  I  will,  though.     Y^ou  see  if  I  don't." 

We  have  lengthened  this  domestic  scene 
sufficiently  to  enable  the  reader  to  understand 
the  relations  between  this  unhappy  husband 
and  wife^  and  to  prepare  his  mind  for  a  better 
comprehension  of  events  that  are  soon  to  be 
related. 

The  next  evening  Ernest  met  Comston  on  the 
street.  Comston  was  sober,  from  the  fact  that 
he  had  no  money  to  buy  the  liery  beverage  for 
which  he  w^as  now  thirsting. 

"Mr.  Edgefield,"  said  Comston,  who  had  a 
dim  consciousness  that  he  had  used  improper 


304  DEEP    WATERS. 

language  on  the  previous  evening,  "  I  want  to 
offer  you  an  apology  for  my  conduct  yester- 
day.    I  hope  you  are  not  offended." 

"  No  apology  is  necessary,"  replied  Ernest. 
"  I  am  sorry  that  you  have  formed  such  awful, 
ruinous  habits." 

''  You  are  not  as  sorry  as  T  am,"  said  Com- 
ston,  speaking  with  emphasis. 

"Why  do  you  not  leave  off  your  terrible 
habits,  then  ? "  said  Ernest. 

"I've  tried  again  and  again,"  said  Comston, 
bursting  into  tears,  "but  it  seems,"  he  con- 
tinued, half  sobbing,  "  that  I  cannot.  0,  you 
have  no  idea  what  a  consuming  thirst  torments 
me.     I  must  have  brandy,  or  I  will  die." 

"No,  you  would  not  die,"  answered  Ernest, 
"  if  you  had  the  will  to  resist.  But  that,  I 
doubt  not,  is  gone.  And  now  you  can  never 
quit  so  long  as  you  rely  on  yourself." 

"  On  whom  must  I  rely  ? "  asked  Comston. 

"  Christ,"  said  Ernest  solemnly.  "  Nothing, 
I  fear,  will  ever  enable  you  to  quit  your  evil 
ways,  but  the  grace  of  God." 

"  How  am  I  to  get  the  grace  of  God  ?  " 

"  Only  by  faithful  prayer."' 

"•Do  you  think  I  could  quit  in  that  way  ? " 

"Yes,"  answered  Ernest. 


THE  DRUNKAED.  305 

"Well,  I'd  give  worlds  to  be  as  I  once  was. 
I  am  ashamed  of  myself.  But  if  I  am  left  to 
myself,  I  never  can  reform.  Will  you  help 
me?" 

"Will  you  put  yourself  in  my  hands?" 
asked  Ernest.  "  Will  you  do  as  I  tell  you? 
If  you  will,  you  can  reform." 

"But  I  know  what  you'll  tell  me,"  cried 
Comston.  "You'll  say,  never  touch  another 
drop.  I  can't  quit  suddenly.  You  make  no 
allowance  for  my  appetite." 

"Yes,  I  do,"  replied  Ernest.  "I  wiU  give 
you  a  substitute  for  strong  drink." 

"All  right,"  said  Comston.     "I  will  do  it." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Ernest.  "  Now  you  must 
promise  me  to  keep  away  from  the  saloons." 

"I'll  do  it." 

"  To  prove  your  sincerity,  turn  around  like 
a  man,  and  go  home." 

"  When  will  you  give  me  that  substitute  ?  " 
asked  Comston,  hesitating. 

"  Go  home,"  said  Ernest,  "and  remain  till  I 
come  with  it." 

Comston,  without  another  word,  at  once 
went  home  sober,  to  the  surprise  of  his  wife. 
He  remained  till  his  burning  appetite  destroy- 
ed his    self-control.    He  could    stand    it  no 


306  DEEP   WATERS. 

longer.  Snatching  up  Ms  hat  he  rushed  off 
toward  town.  Drink  he  must  have.  As  he 
was  turning  a  corner,  he  stood  face  to  face 
with  Ernest. 

"  Do  not  go  there,  Comston,"  he  said.  "  Is 
this  the  way  you  obey  me  ?  You  promised  to 
put  yourself  in  my  hands." 

"But  you  said,"  exclaimed  Comston,  "  that 
you  would  give  me  a  substitute,  and  you 
didn't  do  it.  I  stayed  as  long  as  I  could. 
Why  didn't  you  come,  and  help  me,  as  you 
promised?  " 

"I  desired  to  measure  your  will-power,"  re- 
plied Ernest.  "  I  wanted  to  test  your  manhood. 
I  told  you  I  would  come.  Why  could  you  not 
believe  me?" 

"  I  was  afraid  you  would  put  it  off  too  long," 
replied  Comston.     "I  am  dying." 

"Let  us  go  back,"  said  Ernest. 

"  But  where  is  the  substitute  ?  " 

"  I  have  it.     Come  on,"  commanded  Ernest. 

"Let  us  hurry,"  said  Comston. 

It  was  now  dark,  and  they  both  hurried 
along  to  Comston' s  residence.  As  soon  as  they 
had  entered  the  drunkard's  bed-room,  Ernest 
drew  from  his  pocket  a  vial,  and  poured  out 
some  of  the  mixture   into   a  glass  of  water. 


THE    DRUNK  A  ED.  307 

which  Comston  eagerly  drank.  Ernest  gave 
him  two  more  glasses,  and  then  the  inebriate 
seemed  satisfied.  In  an  hour  Ernest  left  him 
in  a  profound  sleep,  which  he  knew  would  last 
till  morning. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


THE  CRIME. 


When  a  man  acquires  the  habit  of  indulg- 
ing in  strong  drink,  it  requires  a  will  of  iron 
to  break  it.  Few  men  have  the  physical  and 
moral  fortitude  to  offer  the  necessary  resist- 
ance. The  intense,  consuming  thirst  para- 
lyzes the  mental  energies.  The  wretched 
victim  will  risk  life  itself  to  gratify  his  raging 
appetite.  Poor  Comston  had  not  descended 
to  such  a  depth  of  moral  degradation  that  he 
had  no  disposition  to  free  himself  from  the 
shackles  of  his  terrible  foe.  In  his  sober 
moments  he  most  earnestly  wished  that  he 
could  free  himself  from  the  vicious  demon 
which  clung  to  him  with  the  tenacity  of  Sin- 
bad's  Old  Man  of  the  Sea.  But  the  saloon 
was  like  a  load- stone — a  cynosure  which  drew 
Comston  with  an  attraction  that  he  had  not 
the  moral  nerve  to  resist.  "When  the  appe- 
tite was  upon  him,  it  seemed  impossible  to 
pass   the  open   door.     The  fragrance   of  the 


THE   CRIME.  309 

wines,  issuing  from  the  interior  of  the  dram- 
shop, acted  upon  his  senses  with  all  the  force 
of  the  law  of  gravitation,  and  he  went  in 
almost  in  the  same  way  that  a  stone  falls  to 
the  earth  when  it  is  thrown  up  into  the  air. 

Comston  woke  up  early  the  next  morning 
from  the  stupor  into  which  Ernest's  substitute 
had  thrown  him.  He  felt  that  he  was  burning 
up.  His  terrible  appetite  made  him  forget,  or 
ignore  his  promises  to  the  preacher.  What 
cared  he  for  reformation,  when  he  believed 
himself  dying — dying  for  the  want  of  brandy. 
In  spite  of  the  entreaties  of  his  wife,  he  put  on 
his  hat,  to  go  to  town. 

''Where  are  you  going?"  she  asked. 
"O,  just  to  town  a  little  while — that's  all." 
^*  But  you  promised  Mr.  Edgefield  that  you 
would  not  go.     Come  back." 

"  I'll  be  back  in  a  few  moments." 
And  off  he  rushed,  determined  to  have  a 
dram  if  he  should  have  to  sell  his  very  cloth- 
ing. While  he  is  walking  along  rapidly,  let 
us  secretly  and  silently  enter  the  saloon  to 
which  he  is  hastening.  We  see  two  men  in 
the  room,  and  they  are  engaged  in  a  bitter 
quarrel.  Presentl}^  the  man,  who  is  partially 
under  the  influence  of  ardent  spirits,  springs 
toward  the  saloon-keeper,  exclaiming : 


310  DEEP   WATERS. 

"I'm  not  going  to  stand  this  any  longer. 
You've  got  all  my  money,  and  I  must  have 
another  drink,  and  I'll  have  it,  or  I'll  kill  you." 

A  brief  scuffle  ensues,  which,  however, 
lasts  only  half  a  minute.  The  man  falls, 
crying : 

"You've  killed  me.  I  wish  to  God  there 
was  a  witness — but  it's  too  late.  I'm  a  dead 
man,  curse  you." 

Then  he  fell  heavily  to  the  floor. 

"You  brought  it  on  yourself,"  said  the 
saloon-keeper.     "  You  forced  me  to  kill  you." 

At  this  moment  Comston  hastily  entered 
the  saloon,  and  without  looking  around, 
cried : 

"For  God's  sake  give  me  a  drink!  I 
haven't  a  cent.  Take  my  clothes — anything — 
I'll  die  if  I  can't  get  a  dram." 

An  idea  seemed  to  strike  the  saloon-keeper, 
whose  agitation  Comston  had  not  observed, 
for  he  said : 

"  Well,  here,  drink." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,"  exclaimed  Com- 
ston, clutching  the  glass,  and  draining  it  to 
the  very  dregs. 

In  a  few  moments  the  saloon-keeper  said : 

"Comston,  I'll  give  you  another  drink  if 


THE   CKIME.  311 

you'll  drag  that  drunken  feller  out  there  under 
the  trees.  He  fell  down,  and  cut  himself  on 
the  corner  of  that  bench,  and  is  bleeding  con- 
siderably." 

"I'll  do  it,"  exclaimed  Comston,  upon  whom 
the  brandy  was  beginning  to  have  some  effect. 
He  stooped  down  to  lift  up  the  fallen  man,  but 
glancing  at  the  ghastly  face,  he  exclaimed  : 

"Why,  Good  Gracious!  he's  dead,  arn't 
he?" 

"  0,  no— dead  drunk— that's  all." 

"  Well,  may  be  he  is,"  said  Comston,  who 
was  more  anxious  about  the  anticipated  dram 
than  the  fate  of  a  fellow-being.  "I'll  take 
him  out  anyhow." 

Seizing  the  dead  man  in  his  arms,  he 
dragged  him  out  of  the  door,  and  while  so 
doing,  his  own  clothing  was  plentifully 
besmeared  with  blood.  As  he  reached  the 
trees,  two  men  passed  by,  one  of  whom  said : 

"Hello,  Comston!  what  are  you  doin' ? 
Been  fightin',  have  you?" 

"Not  much,"  replied  Comston,  who  wanted 
it  thought  that  he  was  a  man  of  pugnacious 
tendencies.  "  He  gave  me  some  of  his  impu- 
dence, and  I  slapped  him  over." 

This  brief  specimen  of  Comston's  bragga- 
docio appeared  to  delight  the  saloon  keeper. 


312      '  DEEP  WATEES. 

Comston  left  his  human  burden  under  a 
tree,  and  hurried  back  into  the  saloon. 

"  Give  me  the  drinli  you  promised !"  he  said. 

"Yes,  here  it  is,  and  it  is  a  good  one,"  said 
the  cunning  saloon-lveeper.  "  Take  it,  for 
you've  earned  it,"  he  continued,  laughing. 
"  He  was  heavy,  warn't  he  ?" 

"  Yes,  lie  was." 

Comston  took  the  glass  brimful  of  strong 
brandy,  tossed  it  off  as  though  it  had  been 
cool  water,  went  out,  and  seated  himself  under 
one  of  the  shade  trees  only  a  few  paces  from 
the  dead  man. 

It  was  no  unusual  thing  to  see  men  lying 
under  the  trees  in  front  of  the  saloon. 
Accordingly  several  hours  passed  away  before 
the  corpse  attracted  any  special  attention. 
Comston,  in  half  an  hour  was  so  much  intox- 
icated, that  he  fell  from  the  bench,  and  lay 
upon  the  ground  in  a  state  of  utter  uncon- 
sciousness. The  crowd,  accustomed  to  assem- 
ble there  every  day,  gathered  in,  and  among 
them  the  two  who  had  seen  Comston  dragging 
the  body  out  of  the  house.  One  of  these,  who 
had  spoken  first,  looking  at  the  corpse  close- 
ly, exclaimed  to  the  saloon-keeper : 

"  Look  here,  Blicker,  I  do  believe  Jones  is 
dead !    I'll  feel  his  pulse." 


THE   CRIME.  313 

"I  reckon  not,"  replied  Blicker,  with  perfect 
noncTialance.  "Him  and  Comston  got  into  a 
scuffle  about  three  hours  ago,  and  Comston 
snatched  up  my  knife  which  was  on  the 
counter,  and  made  a  slash  at  Jones,  and  I 
took  the  knife  away  from  him.  Comston 
knocked  him  down,  and  I  thought  Jones  was 
too  drunk  to  get  up.  I  saw  that  Jones  was 
Ibleeding,  and  I  ordered  Comston  to  take  him 
out,  as  I  didn't  want  blood  on  my  floor. 
Comston,  as  you  saw,  dragged  him  out,  but  I 
didn't  'spose  he  was  hurt  much." 

"  As  shore  as  shootin',  cried  the  man,  "  he's 
dead  !     He  hasn't  a  bit  of  pulse." 

"  Go  for  a  Doctor,"  said  Blicker. 

"I'll  step  over  to  Dr.  Warner's  office,"  said 
the  man.     "  I  see  him  riding  up  now." 

It  was  not  more  than  five  minutes  before 
Dr.  Warner  was  on  the  spot.  A  very  brief 
examination  proved  that  Jones  was  dead.  He 
had  been  stabbed  to  the  heart. 

"  Who  did  it  ?"  asked  the  Doctor. 

"That  feller,  I  reckon,"  pointing  to  the 
prostrate  form  of  Comston,  spoke  up  the  man 
who  gave  the  version  of  the  afi'air,  which,  in 
connection  with  that  of  the  saloon-keeper, 
made  it  evident  that  Comston  was  the  criminal. 


314  DEEP   WATERS. 

It  was  several  hours  before  Comston  was 
sufficient!}^  sober  to  comprehend  that  he  was 
accused  of  a  most  awful  crime.  When  he 
awoke  from  his  drunken  sleep,  the  constable 
was  near  by,  who  had  a  warrant  for  his  arrest. 

"Come,"  said  he  to  Comston,  "you're  my 
prisoner.     Come  on  to  jail." 

"To  jail!"  cried  Comston.  "You're  jok- 
ing !     What  have  I  done  to  go  to  jail  for?" 

"  O,  you  pretend  not  to  know,  do  you  ? 
Well,  probably  you  was  so  drunk  that  you 
didn't  know  what  you  was  a  doin'.  Don't 
you  know  that  you  killed  Jones  this  morn- 
ing?" 

"  No,  I  don't,"  exclaimed  Comston  in  the 
utmost  alarm,  now  looking  at  his  bloody 
clothes,  and  recalling  the  events  of  the  morn- 
ing.    Soon  his  mind  was  clear. 

"  I  dragged  Jones  out  under  the  tree  for  a 
drink  of  brandy,"  said  Comston.  "I  can 
prove  that  by  Blicker  himself." 

"Didn't  you  tell  Bill Dodds,  while  you  were 
dragging  him,  that  you  had  a  tight  with  him, 
and  slapped  him  over  ?"  asked  one. 

"  O,  I  said  that  in  fun,"  exclaimed  Comston. 
"I  only  thought  Jones  was  drunk." 

"You'll  find  it  dear  sort  of  fun,"  said  one. 


*THE   CRIME.  315 

*'Say,  Blicker,"  cried  Comston,  now  thor- 
oughly aroused  to  the  fearful  realities  of  his 
situation,  "  didn't  you  give  me  a  drink  to 
drag  Jones  out  of  your  house  this  very  morn- 
ing— didn't  you?" 

"Why,  no,  Comston,"  answered  Blicker 
coolly,  ''  I  don't  keej)  brandy  to  give  away. 
You've  forgot  all  about  the  fight  you  had  with 
Jones  this  morning." 

"  It's  a  lie  !  It's  a  lie  !"  frantically  cried 
Comston.  ''I  never  even  had  any  quarrel 
with  Jones.  He  was  a  good  friend,  and  I 
never  thought  of  fighting  with  him." 

"  Poor  feller !"  said  Blicker,  with  affected 
pity,  "you  was  so  drunk  you  can't  remember 
that  you  made  a  slash  at  Jones  with  my  knife 
that  was  on  the  counter." 

"0,  Blicker,  Blicker!"  exclaimed  Comston, 
"  how  can  you  stand  there  and  tell  such  an 
infamous  lie?  You  know  you  gave  me  two 
drinks — one  free,  and  the  other  to  drag  Jones 
out." 

"Whether  he  did  or  not,"  interposed  the 
constable,  "you're  in  for  it  now.  I  am  com- 
pelled to  take  you  to  jail.  When  your  trial 
comes  off,  you  can  have  a  chance  to  prove 
your  innocence." 


316  DEEP   WATERS. 

^'I'm  not  going  to  jail!"  cried  Comston 
wildly.  ''I've  done  nothing  to  go  there  for. 
What  do  you  want  to  put  an  innocent  man  in 
prison  for?    I  should  like  to  know." 

"  Get  up,  and  come  along,"  cried  the  con- 
stable sternly,  "or  I'll  hand-cuff  you." 

"  O,  my  God !"  exclaimed  Comston,  now 
completely  sobered.  "Turn  me  loose,  Dick 
Bonds.     You  know  I  didn't  do  it." 

"  Come  along,  I  say!"  cried  the  constable. 

"  Please  let  me  speak  toBlicker,"  entreated 
the  terror-stricken  man,  turning  to  the  saloon- 
keeper. "0,  Blicker,  you're  a  gentleman. 
Now  don't  let  me  go  to  jail." 

"How  can  I  prevent  it?"  asked  Blicker. 

"  Why,  you  know  very  well  that  I  didn't  so 
much  as  strike  Jones,  if  you'd  only  say  so. 
Now  come,  be  honest,  Blicker." 

"  Will  you  go,"  asked  the  constable,  pro- 
ducing a  pair  of  hand-cuffs,  "  without  these?" 

"  0,  yes,  I'll  go,"  said  Comston  in  anguish. 
"  Surely  Blicker  will  tell  the  truth  when  he  is 
put  on  his  oath." 

And  Comston  was  locked  up  in  the  jail. 


CHAPTER.  XX. 


THE  PRISON. 


Immediately  after  the  arresl  and  imprison- 
ment of  Comston,  Ernest  called  *to  see  Clara  in 
order  to  give  such  comfort  as  the  circumstances 
would  allow.  He  did  not  find  her  in  tears,  as 
he  had  expected.  On  the  contrary,  her  face, 
though  sad,  wore  a  hard,  stony  expression. 
She  acted  as  those  unfortunate  wives,  who  have 
lost  their  affection  for  their  husbands,  and  who 
are  looking  forward  to  be  released  by  the  di- 
vorce of  nature.  The  drunkard's  wife  can  be 
freed  only  by  the  premature  death  of  her  hus- 
band. She  may  not  desire  such  a  termination 
to  her  continual  troubles,  but  she  lives  in  con- 
stant expectation  of  such  an  end,  and  when 
it  does  come,  she  is  not  greatly  surprised,  for 
it  is  nothing  more  than  she  has  anticipated. 
Clara  was  just  in  this  condition.  She  had 
once  loved  Xerxes  Comston  as  much  as  it  was 
in  her  nature  to  love  any  one.    But  this   affec- 

317 


318  DEEP   WATEES. 

tion  had  been  eradicated  by  his  brutal  conduct 
and  disgusting  habits. 

''  I  do  assure  you,"'  said  Ernest,  "  I  sympa- 
thize with  you  in  your  trials.  Such  misfor- 
tunes look  dark  to  us,  but  God  is  good  and 
kind,  and  we  must  be  resigned  to  His  holy  will. 
All  is  for  the  best." 

"  You  think,  then,"  cried  Clara,  "  it  is  best 
that  Mr.  Comston  should  kill  Mr.  Jones,  and 
be  hanged  for  it,  do  you  ? " 

"  We  must  not  jump  to  conclusions,"  mildly 
answered  Ernest.  "  No  trial  has  taken  place, 
and  we  surely  ought  not  to  judge  of  the  divine 
purposes  before  they  are  developed.  Even 
after  they  are  accomplished,  we  may  not  un- 
derstand them.  I  have  no  doubt,  that  in  every 
instance,  God  brings  good  out  of  evil." 

"Do  you  believe,"  asked  Clara,  "  that  God 
has  anything  to  do  with  this  horrible  affair  ? " 
And  she  looked  at  him  almost  savagely. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Ernest  gently,  "  I  be- 
lieve that  God  has  something  to  do  with  every 
event." 

"  Do  you  think,"  exclaimed  Clara,  '^  that 
God  made  my  husband  a  drunkard? " 

"No,  certainly  not,"  answered  Ernest.  "  He 
made  himself  a  an — inebriate.    He  is  a  free- 


THE   PRISON.  819 

agent,  and  the  Lord  permitted  him  to  exercise 
his  powers.  God  is  not  the  author  of  men's 
sins.  He  does  not  force  them  to  sin.  But  if 
Mr.  Comston  killed  Mr.  Jones,  which  I  do  not 
think  has  been  proved  yet,  you  may  rest  as- 
sured that  the  Lord  will  bring  good  out  of  it 
in  some  way,  and  make  it  redound  to  His 
glory." 

*'  I  don't  see  how  that  can  be,"  said  Clara. 

"  You  ma}^  never  see  it  in  this  world,"  re- 
plied Ernest,  "  and  you  may  live  to  see  the 
day,  when  you  will  feel  thankful  for  this  very 
misfortune,  as  you  now  regard  it." 

"Look  here,"  suddenly  exclaimed  Clara, 
"  if  that  day  ever  comes  when  I  shall  feel  that  I 
ought  to  be  thankful,  I  promise  to  join  your 
church,  and  try  to  be  a  Christian." 

''  Why  not  try  to  be  a  Christian  anyhow? " 
asked  Ernest.  "  You  must  not  try  to  make  a 
bargain  and  contract  with  God." 

"  How  is  that  ? "  said  Clara. 

"  Why,  you  say  in  your  heart,  if  God  will 
give  me  certain  things,  grant  certain  desires, 
I  will  be  a  Christian.  The  Lord  will  accept 
no  such  service  as  that.  You  must  make  a  full 
surrender  of  yourself  to  Christ — unconditional 
a  nd  forever.     Determine  to  serve  Him  whether 


320  DEEP  WATEES. 

your  wishes   are  granted  or  not.     Trust  Him, 
though  He  slay  you." 

"  O,"  said  Clara,  "  I  cannot  be  a  Christian. 
I  have  suffered  too  much." 

"  So  much  the  more  reason  why  you  should 
be  a  Christian,"  answered  Ernest.  "  You  have 
seen  thie  folly  of  this  world's  pursuits.  Now  seek 
that  happiness  which  the  world  can  neither 
give  nor  take  away." 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  begin,  even  if  I  had 
the  disposition,"  replied  Clara  sulkily.  ''I 
once  was  happy.  I  enjoyed  myself,  and  never 
thought  of  religion.  If  God  is  so  good  and  so 
kind,  as  you  say,  why  does  He  not  give  me 
that  sort  of  happiness — the  sort  that  I  really 
crave  ? " 

"How  long  would  it  last?"  asked  Ernest. 
"  Only  a  few  j^ears.  The  time  will  come  when 
you  can  no  longer  enjoy  these  pleasures  of 
sense.  You  will  lose  the  ardor  of  youth.  Age 
will  steal  upon  you,  and  you  will  lose  all  relish 
for  temporal  things.  You  will  then  feel  the 
need  of  something  more  substantial.  Why  not 
begin  now  to  lay  up  treasures  in  heaven  ? " 

'^  Shall  I  feel  more  happy,  if  I  do?"  asked 
this  spiritually  ignorant,  thoroughly  worldly- 
minded  woman.  "  Will  God  care  for  me,  and 
supply  my  wants  ?  " 


THE   PRTSOT^-.  321 

•'  Undoubtedly,  if  you  devote  yourself  to 
His  servicQ  from  the  proper  motives  ?  " 

"  What  is  the  proper  motive  ?  " 

"  Why,"  answered  Ernest,  "  you  must  serve 
the  Master,  not  with  the  object  of  receiving 
earthly  good,  but  with  the  view  of  making 
your  calling  and  election  sure." 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  replied  Clara, 
thoughtfully  and  seriously. 

"  Give  yourself,  at  once,  to  Christ,  pray  for 
the  enlightening  influences  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 
and  Grod  will  bless  you." 

"  How  can  I  do  all  this  ? "  suddenly  and  im- 
patiently cried  Clara,  when  I  am  suffering  for 

the ."     She  paused,  and  appeared  to  be 

greatly  embarrassed. 

''  Nothing,  though,"  she  added. 

'*  Mrs.  Comston,"  said  Ernest  compassion- 
ately, "  God  knows  I  would  be  a  friend  and 
brother  to  you.  I  want  your  soul  saved.  Con- 
fide in  me.  Are  you  afraid  to  trust  me,  and 
acquaint  me  with  your  troubles,  whatever  they 
maybe?" 

"  No,  I'm  not  afraid  to  trust  you,"  she  an- 
swered, with  tears  springing  into  her  eyes, 
"  but  I'm  proud.  I'm  ashamed  to  tell  any- 
one."    She  could  say  no  more  for  several   mo- 


322  DEEP   WATERS. 

ments,  and  Ernest  waited  till  she  became  more 
tranquil. 

"  You  seem  to  be  the  only  friend  I  have  in 
the  world,"  she  continued  presently.  "1  once 
had  plenty  of  friends,  but  when  misfortunes 
overtook  me,  they  deserted  me,  and  I  have 
met  with  nothing  but  rebukes  and  insults.  I 
have  got  so  I  hate  people.  I  didn't  know  the 
world  was  so  full  of  mean  wretches.  People 
used  to  envy  me,  because  I  had  money,  but 
they  seemed  to  me  to  rejoice  when  I  was 
brought  dowQ  to  poverty  and  social  degra- 
dation. If  I  wished  to  be  good,  I  don't  see 
how  I  could." 

"  Tell  me  your  troubles,"  urged  Ernest 
kindly,  "and,  perhaps,  I  can  be  of  service." 

"It  is  humiliating  to  confess,"  she  said, 
turning  her  blushing  face,  "  but  the  truth  is,  I 
can  get  no  work  to  do.  I  have  had  nothing  to 
eat  since  yesterday.  It  seems  that  I  must 
starve,  and  that,  too,  when  I  am  willing  to 
labor.  But  don't  misconstrue  my  motives.  I'm 
no  beggar.  I'm  not  appealing  to  you  for  re- 
lief, and  I  don't  want  you  to  mention  what  I 
have  told  you.  I  tell  it  to  you  to  show  you 
how  difficult  it  would  be  for  me  to  be  good, 
when  I  hate  people  for  my  misfortunes." 


THE   PRISON.  323 

Ernest  expressed  no  surprise  at  this  distress- 
ing information,  but  he  said  no  more  on  the 
subject  of  religion,  well  knowing  that  hunger 
is  not  very  compatible  with  spirituality. 

"The  world  is  not  so  bad  as  you  think  it," 
he  replied.  "  You  do  your  neighbors  injustice 
by  concealing  your  condition." 

"Don't,"  cried  Clara,  starting  up,  "don't 
tell  them  for  the  world.  I  despise  to  be  re- 
garded as  an  object  of  pity." 

"  Trust  me,"  rising  to  leave.  "I  shall  not 
betray  your  confidence." 

In  a  little  while  after  his  departure,  a  cart 
drove  up  to  Clara's  door,  and  the  driver  un- 
loaded sufficient  provisions  to  last  for  several 
weeks.  Poor  Clara  was  overwhelmed  by  this 
expression  of  kindness,  and  she  went  to  her 
room,  and  "  wept  bitterly."  Several  lady  mem- 
bers of  Ernest's  church  called  the  next  eve- 
ning with  offers  of  employment.  They  acted 
and  talked  in  such  a  manner  that  she  was  sat- 
isfied they  were  not  acquainted  with  her  true 
condition.  In  her  heart  she  thanked  Ernest 
for  the  delicacy  with  which  he  had  come  to 
her  relief.  The  ladies  spoke  words  of  sympa- 
thy. All  this  had  a  tendency  to  open  the 
woman's  darkened  heart  to  spiritual  influences. 


324  DEEP   WATERS. 

Ernest  waited  two  days  before  he  called  at 
the  prison  to  see  Comston.  Not  being  able  to 
procure  strong  drink,  the  prisoner  was  per- 
fectly sober.  The  poor  fellow  was  humbled 
and  subdued  by  the  misfortunes  which  dark- 
ened his  pathway. 

"  How  are  you  to-day  ? "  asked  Ernest 
kindly. 

"  I've  been  in  torment,"  he  replied.  "  I 
want  brandy,  and  it  seems  I'll  die,  if  I  can't 
get  it.     Give  me  some." 

''  Comston,"  said  Ernest  gently,  but  firmly, 
"now  is  your  time  to  break  off  your  evil 
habit.    If  you  do  not,  you  are  ruined." 

"  I'm  already  ruined,"  groaned  the  wretched 
victim.  "  But  I  never  thought  that  I  would  be 
accused  of  murder.  God  in  heaven  knows 
that  I  never  killed  poor  Jones.  I'm  as  in- 
nocent of  that  as  you  are.  Blicker  told  an 
infamous  lie.  I  believe  he  did  it  himself,  and 
is  using  me  as  a  scape-goat." 

"  But  circumstances,"  remarked  Ernest, 
"  seem  to  be  against  you  at  present.  However, 
I  have  not  come  to  talk  about  that.  I  want  to 
save  your  soul." 

"Why,"  cried  Comston,  in  visible  alarm, 
"  you  can't  believe  I'll  be  put  to  death,  do  you  ? 


THE  PRISON.  325 

It  would  be  an  everlasting  disgrace  to — to — 
hang  an  innocent  man." 

"  But  you  will  have  to  die  sometime,  Comston 
— sooner  or  later,  and  I  do  not  want  your  soul 
lost.  I  have  come  to  pray  with  you,  and  for 
you.     Will  you  join  me  ?" 

''  0,  yes,  if  you  think  it  will  do  any  good." 

Ernest  read  suitable  portions  of  Scripture, 
and  prayed  for  the  unhappy  man,  whose  feel- 
ings were  at  last  deeply  moved. 
'  Comston,  the  next  day,  stood  his  trial  in  the 
Magistrate's  court,  and  without  entering  into 
the  details,  which  would  be  of  no  special 
interest  to  the  reader,  it  is  sufficient  to  state 
that  he  was  bound  over  to  the  Circuit  Court, 
which  would  convene  at  the  expiration  of  live 
months.  As  this  was  no  bailable  case,  Com- 
ston had  to  be  confined  in  jail. 

Frequently  our  greatest  misfortunes  are 
blessings  in  disguise,  as  the  Sacred  Scriptures 
abundantly  demonstrate.  Comston's  incarcer- 
ation, was  at  least  a  spiritual  blessing  to  him. 
He  could  not  procure  ardent  spirits,  and  the 
consequence  was,  that,  in  a  few  weeks,  his 
physical  constitution  began  to  recuperate,  and 
he  at  last  mastered  his  terrible  appetite.  But 
this  was  not  all.    Ernest  visited  him  nearly 


326  DEEP   WATERS. 

every  day,  prayed  with  him,  instructed  him, 
till  finally  the  poor  fellow  had  reason  to 
rejoice  in  a  brighter  hope  than  had  ever  thrilled 
his  heart  before.  There  could  be  no  doubt 
about  his  complete  reformation.  This,  in  con- 
nection with  Comston's  emphatic  assertion  of 
his  innocence,  had  a  tendency  to  arouse  public 
sympathy  in  his  favor.  No  one  believed  that 
he  was  a  murderer  at  hearty  even  if  he  had 
taken  Jones'  life.  The  theory  was,  that  it  was 
done  in  a  drunken  quarrel,  without  there  being 
any  intention  to  kill. 

But  all  this  was  not  the  full  extent  of  the 
blessing.  The  husband  and  wife  were  also 
reconciled.  CJara,  who,  too,  had  found  that 
"peace  which  passeth  all  understanding," 
visited  him  in  the  jail — indeed,  spent  the 
most  of  her  time  there.  Xerxes  "was  himself 
again,"  and  her  buried  affection  for  him 
revived.  So  notwithstanding  the  unfavorable 
circumstances  which  surrounded  them,  they 
were  comparatively  happy.  They  were  not 
without  hope. 

Ernest,  in  these  hours  of  trial,  proved  a 
brother.  He  attended  to  Comston's  outside 
affairs,  and,  among  other  things,  secured  the 
services  of  a  good  lawyer. 


THE  PRISON.  327 

The  five  months  had  nearly  passed  away, 
and  only  a  few  days  remained  before  the  trial 
would  occur.  Now,  let  us  visit  the  jail  for  the 
last  time.  Only  Clara,  Comston  and  Ernest 
were  present. 

"■  O,"  said  Comston  earnestly,  "  if  I  could 
only  get  out  of  this  difficulty,  what  a  different 
man  I'd  be  !  what  a  different  life  I'd  lead ! 
I've  lost  the  taste  for  brandy,  and  now  take  a 
solemn  oath  that  not  another  drop  of  the  vile 
stuff  shall  ever  go  down  my  throat.  O,  Mr. 
Edgefield,  pray  God  to  get  me  out  of  this 
trouble,  and  I  promise  to  be  a  true  Christian 
as  long  as  I  live." 

"Now,  Mrs.  Comston,"  said  Ernest  plea- 
santly, '*you  have  heard  his  vow,  do  you  think 
he  would  keep  it  ? " 

"  K  he  wouldn't,"  she  said  emphatically, "  he 
would  be  the  meanest  ingrate  that  ever  lived 
on  earth." 

"Well,"  said  Ernest,  "I  believe  he  wiU 
perform  his  vows.  I  shall  not  see  you  any 
more  before  the  trial.  Let  iis  pray  together 
once  more  for  God's  assistance." 

When  they  arose  from  their  knees,  Clara 
seemed  more  cheerful  and  said : 

"  Somehow  I  feel  hopeful." 


328  DEEP  WATEES. 

''  So  do  I,"  said  Ernest,  so  emphatically  that 
both  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"  But  upon  what  can  you  base  a  hope  ? " 
asked  Clara,  gazing  searchingly  into  his  face. 

" Have  faith  in  God,"  replied  Ernest.  "He 
can  raise  up  friends  for  us." 

"  But  we  want  witnesses,'^''  said  Clara. 

"  God  can  raise  up  unexpected  witnesses," 
replied  Ernest  mysteriously.     "  But  good-by." 

And  he  left  in  haste. 


CHAPTER  XXL 


THE  TRIAL. 


At  last,  the  Circuit  Court  met.  Three  or 
four  days  were  consumed  with  other  business, 
and  the  case  of  the  State  against  Xerxes  Com- 
ston  was  called. 

"  Are  you  ready  for  trial  ?"  asked  the  Judge. 

"Ready,"  replied  the  Prosecutor. 

"Beady,"  promptly  answered  the  Counsel 
for  the  defence,  to  the  surprise  of  every  one. 
For  obvious  reasons,  it  is  generally  the  prac- 
tice to  postpone  murder  cases  as  long  as  pos- 
sible. 

"  Proceed  then,"  said  His  Honor. 

The  impanelling  of  the  Jury  was  the  first 
step  to  be  taken.  This  was  quickly  done, 
too,  for,  to  general  surprise,  Mr.  Greenlee, 
who  had  undertaken  to  defend  Comston, 
offered  no  objection  to  any  juror,  if  he  only 
had  a  fair  measure  of  common  sense.  He  did 
not,  evidently,  care  for  the  character  of  the 
jury,  and  did  not  appear  to  manifest  the  least 

329 


330  DEEP  WATEES. 

nneasiness  or  anxiety.  He  was  calm  and  col- 
lected, as  though  he  had  no  fears  as  to  the 
final  result.  People  looked  at  him  in  aston- 
ishment, but  the  lawyer  paid  no  attention  to 
their  amazement.  Blicker  cast  suspicious 
glances  at  him.  Clara  was  sitting  in  the  bar 
near  her  husband,  seemingly  in  deep  distress. 
But  when  she  occasionally  looked  at  Green- 
lee's calm  face,  her  hope  revived.  Ernest  was 
also  present,  and  did  not  seem  to  be  anxious. 
Greenlee,  instead  of  trying  to  retard  the  pro- 
gress of  the  case,  manifested  a  willingness  to 
hasten  it  forward.  His  whole  manner  was 
surprising  to  the  District  Attorney,  who  was 
under  the  impression  that  a  verdict  of  con- 
demnation must  be  the  inevitable  result. 

At  length,  the  indictment  was  read,  and 
then  followed  the  examination  of  witnesses. 
The  first  was  Blicker,  who  stated  the  circum- 
stances that  were  favorable  to  his  own  case, 
with  which  the  reader  is  acquainted.  The 
two  men  were  then  introduced  who  had  seen 
Comston  dragging  the  dead  man  under  the 
trees.  They  also  stated  the  language  which 
the  criminal  had  employed.  This  united 
testimony  appeared  to  be  conclusive.  The 
spectators,  who  were  generally  in  sympathy 


THE  TRIAL.  331 

with  the  accused,  looked  solemn.  All  had 
hoped  that  the  trial  itself  would  develop 
something  that  would  be  favorable  to  Com- 
ston.  No  one  wanted  him  punished.  But 
how  could  he  escape  in  the  face  of  such  over- 
whelming evidence  ? 

A  long-drawn  sigh  was  heard  at  Comston's 
side.  It  came  from  Clara,  who  seemed  sud- 
denly to  give  way  to  despair.  Again,  she 
turned  her  head,  and  looked  at  Ernest.  Could 
she  be  mistaken?  Was  there  not  a  percep- 
tible smile  upon  his  face?  She  then  glanced 
at  Greenlee.  His  countenance  wore  the  same 
serene,  imperturbable  expression.  There  was 
a  short  pause  in  the  proceedings  when  the 
Prosecutor  said : 

"We  have  no  more  witnesses.  I  do  not 
know,"  he  continued  with  an  air  of  triumph, 
"  why  Mr.  Greenlee  foregoes  his  privilege  of 
cross-examining  the  witnesses  for  the  State. 
He  can  do  so  yet,  if  he  wishes.  I  would 
prefer  that  he  should  do  it." 

''  Their  testimony,"  replied  Greenlee,  "  can 
go  to  the  jury  for  what  it  is  worth." 

''Do  you  mean  to  insinuate  that  it  is  worth 
nothing?"  asked  the  District  Attorney. 

"  Has  the  counsel  for  the  defense,"  inter- 
rupted His  Honor,  ''  no  witnesses  ?" 


332  DEEP   WATERS. 

Every  one  expected  to  hear  a  sorrowful 
"no."  But  what  was  the  universal  astonish- 
ment and  joy,  when  Greenlee  quietly  replied: 

"We  have  one." 

Then  mouths  and  eyes  were  opened  with 
curiosity.  The  spectators  seemed  to  hold 
their  breath  lest  they  should  lose  the  name  of 
the  unexpected  witness,  or  as  if  the  only 
chance  for  Comston  had  wings,  and  might  be 
frightened  away  by  heavy  respiration.  Com- 
ston and  Clara,  looked  up,  leaned  forward, 
and  subjected  Greenlee's  tranquil  face  to  a 
quick,  close  search. 

"  Call  your  witness,"  said  the  Court. 

"  Let  Rev.  Mr.  Edgefield  be  sworn,"  said 
Greenlee  mildly  and  quietly. 

Ernest  rose  from  his  chair,  and  deliberately 
stepped  to  the  Clerk's  desk,  where  he  was 
sworn,  and  then  placed  himself  in  the  witness' 
seat.  It  was  one  of  those  strange,  unexpected 
scenes,  which  sometimes  occur  in  gloomy 
court-rooms,  and  which  change  the  entire 
aspect  of  the  case.  Clara  now  understood 
that  smile  on  the  preacher's  face.  Ernest 
knew  all  about  it,  she  thought.  And  who, 
but  God,  had  sent  him  ?  She  was  awe-struck 
by  the  thought,  and  felt  as  one  who  had  just 


THE  TRIAL.  333 

witnessed,  or  rather  was  about  to  witness,  a 
miracle.  Comston  had  similar  feelings. 
Both  could  have  cast  themselves  upon  the 
floor,  and  kissed  the  witness'  feet.  What  a 
friend  he  was !  How  good,  and  kind,  and 
merciful  was  God,  in  raising  up  such  a  noble 
witness  at  the  moment  when  it  seemed  that 
hope  was  about  to  wing  a  returnless  flight ! 
How  both  their  hearts  were  melted  to  tender- 
ness toward  their  Creator !  for  it  was  the  firm 
conviction  of  both  that  God  had  sent  His  own 
messenger  to  see  justice  done.  Ernest  had 
not  spoken  a  word,  but  they  felt  that  his  tes- 
timony, whatever  it  was,  would  be  conclusive. 
"  Tell  what  you  know  about  this  case,"  said 
Mr.  Greenlee. 

Ernest  spoke  in  a  firm,  emphatic  tone,  that 
carried  conviction  to  every  heart : 

"On  the  morning  of  the day,  of ,  I 

rose  earlier  than  usual.  The  day  before  I  had 
remained  with  Comston,  and  kept  him  away 
from  the  saloon.  He  had  promised  to  reform. 
But,  I  confess,  I  had  little  hope  of  any  refor- 
mation, if  he  was  left  alone,  and  I  determined 
to  watch  him  another  day ;  and  this  accounts 
for  my  early  rising  on  that  particular  morn- 
ing.    I  started   toward  the  saloon,  and  when 


334  DEEP   WATERS. 

I  had  nearly  reached  there,  I  saw  Comston 
coming  out  of  his  gate.  I  then  concealed 
myself  in  the  rear  of  the  saloon,  waiting  for 
Comston  to  come,  intending  to  persuade  him 
to  return  home.  When  I  had  hidden  myself, 
I  heard  two  men  quarreling  inside,  both  of 
whose  voices  I  instantly  recognized.  Pres- 
ently, I  heard  Jones  exclaim  : 

"  'I  won't  stand  it  any  longer.' 

''Then  I  heard  a  rush  over  the  floor.  There 
was  a  scuffle  for  only  a  few  seconds,  and  I 
heard  Jones  cry  out ; 

"  '  You  have  stabbed  me — ,  you  have  killed 
me !' 

''He  employed  some  other  words  which  I  did 
not  hear  distinctly.  Then  I  heard  a  body  fall 
heavily  to  the  floor,  and  all  was  still.  A 
moment  afterwards,  I  heard  Comston  enter 
the  room,  and  beg  for  a  drink,  stating  that  he 
had  no  money.  I  heard  the  rattling  of 
glasses ;  then  there  was  silence.  In  a  short 
time  I  heard  Blicker  say  : 

"  '  I  will  give  3^ou  another  drink,  if  you  will 
drag  that  drunken  man  under  the  tree*.' 

'"I  will  doit'?  said  Comston.  He  seemed 
to  be  lifting  the  man,  and  I  heard  him  exclaim : 

" '  Jones  is  dead,  ain't  he  ?' 


THE   TRIAL.  335 

*"No,'  replied  Blicker,  'He  is  dead 
drunk ;  he  fell  on  the  bench,  and  cut  himself, 
and  he  is  bleeding.' 

"  I  then  heard  a  sound  as  of  one  man  drag- 
ging another  over  the  floor.  At  this  moment 
I  heard  footsteps  approaching  and  I  left." 

"  That  is  the  God's  truth!"  cried  Comston 
in  a  voice  trembling  with  emotion. 

''  Silence!"  cried  the  Sheriff*. 

Clara  could  scarcely  restrain  her  deeply 
agitated  feelings.  How  she  wanted  to  fall  on 
her  knees,  and  thank  Ernest  for  this  strange 
interference.  The  District  Attorney  was 
astounded.  Blicker,  as  pale  as  death,  had 
started  out  of  the  room  at  a  rapid  pace. 

"Sheriff"!"  exclaimed  the  Judge,  "arrest 
Mr.  Blicker,  if  you  please." 

"  I  am  not  running,"  said  Blicker,  who  sud- 
denly seemed  to  recollect  that  flight  was  an 
evidence  of  guilt.  "  I  was  only  changing  my 
seat.     That  preacher  has  made  up  that  lie." 

"  How  came  you  never  to  have  said  anything 
about  this  before  ?"  said  the  District  Attorney 
angrily,  turning  to  Ernest,  "  Why  did  you  not 
give  in  this  testimony  in  the  committing 
court,  and  save  the  expense  and  trouble  of 
this  trial  ?" 


336  DEEP   WATERS. 

"  I  had  a  very  good  reason  for  it,"  said 
Ernest,  "  I  was  anxious  for  the  reformation  of 
Mr.  Comston,  and  I  believed  that  nothing  but 
imprisonment  for  several  months  Would  ever 
cure  him  of  his  evil  habits.  Surely,  the  sal- 
vation of  a  human  soul  is  worth  the  few  dol- 
lars that  it  may  cost  the  county." 

"  You  have  pursued  a  very  strange  course, 
it  seems  to  me,"  said  the  District  Attorney. 
''Suppose  you  had  taken  sick  and  died  before 
the  trial  came  off,  you  would  have  left  your 
friend  in  a  sad  predicament." 

"Not  at  all,  sir,"  replied  Ernest.  "I  made 
provision  for  contingencies  of  that  sort. 
You  may  ask  Mr.  Greenlee." 

"I  will  state,"  said  Mr.  Greenlee,  "that  a 
few  days  after  this  killing,  Mr.  Edgefield 
made  his  deposition  to  the  facts  he  has 
just  stated,  and  signed  it  in  the  presence 
of  two  witnesses.  However,  that  is  perfectly 
irrelevant.  We  have  no  use  whatever  for  the 
deposition." 

"  Will  your  Honor  permit  such  a  proceed- 
ing as  this  ?"  asked  the  District  Attorney. 

"Certainly,"  answered  the  Court,  "Mr. 
Edgefield  was  never  summoned  as  a  witness 
in  the  committing  court." 


THE   TRIAL.  337 

*'  But  still,"  said  the  District  Attorney, 
"ought  he  not  to  have  appeared  anyhow?" 

"Mr.  Edgefield,"  said  the  Court,  "has  given 
his  reason  for  not  doing  so.  The  jury  can 
take  his  testimony  for  whsit  it  is  worth." 

The  jury,  at  once,  retired,  but  they  returned 
in  about  ten  minutes,  and  moved  slowly  up  to 
the  Judge's  stand. 

"Are  you  agreed,  gentlemen?"  said  the 
Court. 

"  We  are,"  replied  the  foreman.  The  Clerk 
then  took  a  paper  from  the  hands  of  the  fore- 
man, and  read  the  following  in  substance  : 

"We,  the  jury  in  the  case  of  the  State 
against  Xerxes  Comston,  find  that  the  defend- 
ant is  not  guilty." 

Immediately  there  was  a  great  shout  which 
shook  the  building. 

"Silence!  silence!"  cried  the  Sheriff;  but 
he  might  as  well  have  spoken  to  a  cyclone. 
Nothing  could  be  heard  but  shouts  of  gladness, 
thus  showing  what  a  deep  interest  the  public 
had  felt  in  this  trial.  Comston  rose  from  his 
seat  and  tottered  toward  Ernest,  around  whose 
neck  he  threw  his  arms,  and  wept  like  a  child. 

Clara  exclaimed  aloud : 

"Praised  be  God!  I  shall  serve  Him  the 
remainder  of  my  days." 


338  DEEP  WATERS. 

There  were  few  dry  eyes  in  tlie  room.  It 
resembled  some  of  the  scenes  of  an  old- 
fashioned  camp-meeting.  The  crowd  looked 
at  Ernest  with  a  species  of  awe.  They  could 
not  have  felt  more  reverence  if  Abraham  him- 
self had  come  back  from  the  dead  and  testified 
in  the  case. 

Comston  and  his  wife  immediately  left  the 
court-room  amid  the  plaudits  of  the  crowd 
that  the  terror  of  the  law  could  not  control. 

Within  two  days,  Comston  had  obtained 
a  position  as  clerk  in  a  store,  and  soon  be- 
gan to  prosper. 

The  next  time  that  Ernest  called,  both  gave 
him  such  a  joyful  and  grateful  greeting  that 
he  felt  compensated  for  all  the  trouble  and 
inconvenience  to  which  he  had  been  subject- 
ed.    After  conversing  a  while,  Ernest  said : 

"  Surely,  you  now  see  the  hand  of  God  in 
your  affairs?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Comston,  "  and  I  am  a  dif- 
ferent man,  and,  by  God's  grace,  intend  to 
lead  a  different  life." 

''And  what  has  Mrs.  Comston  to  say?" 
asked  Ernest  with  a  smile. 

"I  am  perfectly  overwhelmed,"  she  an- 
swered.    "  I  feel  as  one  in  a  dream,  and  you 


THE   TRIAL.  339 

appear  to  me  as  our  guardian  angel.  God 
must  have  sent  you  here." 

''I  hope  so,  my  friends,"  replied  Ernest, 
"  but  give  all  the  glory  to  God.  I  am  only  an 
humble  instrument  in  His  hands.  But,"  he 
added  after  a  short  pause,  "  you  will  now  both 
join  the  church,  will  you  not,  and  lead  Chris- 
tian lives  ?" 

"I  will,"  answered  Comston  emphatically. 
''  I've  not  forgotten  my  vow." 

"And  so  will  I,"  replied  Clara. 

"What  church  will  you  join?  I  do  not 
believe  I  have  ever  asked  you." 

"The  Presbyterian — your  church,"  answered 
Comston.  "I  like  its  comforting  doctrines. 
They  are  certainly  the  right  thing  when  one 
is  in  trouble.  I've  heard  some  people  talk 
very  hard  about  the  eternal  decrees,  but,  as 
you  told  me,  the  doctrine  of  election  is  taught 
in  the  Bible,  and  I  find  it  there." 

"A  few  months  ago,"  said  Clara,  "  I  had  an 
abhorrence  of  predestination,  but  now  I  have 
no  doubt  that  it  is  a  doctrine  of  God's  Book. 
If  it  is  not  taught  in  the  8th  and  9th  chapters 
of  Romans,  I  cannot  understand  language. 
So  I  can  be  nothing  but  a  Presbyterian." 

Accordingly,  the  next  Sabbath  both  were 


340  DEEP   WATEES. 

received  into  the  church  of  their  choice. 
Ernest  never  had  more  faithful,  zealous  mem- 
bers, and  more  staunch  friends.  If  Comston 
heard  any  one  complaining  in  regard  to 
Ernest,  or  any  thing  he  did,  it  made  him  im- 
patient, and  he  defended  his  beloved  pastor 
and  friend,  with  unlimited  warmth  of  feeling. 
God  prospered  him  in  business,  and  in  a  few 
years  Comston  had  a  store  of  his  own.  He 
became  a  liberal  and  cheerful  supporter  of 
the  Church  and  all  its  institutions.  Clara 
contracted  habits  of  economy  and  diligence, 
and  was  foremost  in  all  church  work,  such  as 
ladies  could  perform.  We  close  the  chapter 
with  the  remark  that  Blicker  was  tried  for 
murder,  and  condemned  to  the  penitentiary 
for  the  period  of  his  natural  life. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


THE  LAST  SCENE. 


The  lives  of  a  great  many  people  are  dis- 
tinguished by  a  few  romantic  events,  but  no 
man's  life  is  one  continuous  series  of  startling 
incidents.  Life  flows  in  a  regular  channel, 
and  its  romantic  portions  are  mere  episodes. 
The  great  bulk  of  mankind  are  doomed  to  toil 
for  the  necessaries  of  existence.  Hence,  every 
day  is  alike.  They  go  through  the  same  dull 
routine — the  same  tread- mill  process  of  eat, 
drink,  sleep,  work. 

It  could  not,  therefore,  be  reasonably  expect- 
ed that  the  career  of  a  minister,  like  Ernest, 
living  in  a  quiet  provincial  town,  should  be 
distinguished  for  thrilling  experiences.  The 
clerical  life  is  generally  tranquil  and  un- 
romantic.  The  preacher  visits  the  sick,  com- 
forts the  distressed,  resolves  the  doubts  of  the 
skeptical,  preaches  the  gospel.  Sabbath  after 
Sabbath,  and  in  this  way  the  days  glide  by 
till  death  transfers  him  to  a  higher  state  of 

341 


342  DEEP   WATEES. 

existence.  After  the  remarkable  episode,  in 
volving  Comston's  startliifg  history,  nothing 
occurred,  for  years,  in  the  life  of  Ernest  which 
would  be  of  interest  to  the  mere  story  reader. 
At  present  he  is  performing  his  ministerial 
duties,  assisted  by  Mildred,  with  unostenta- 
tious piety. 

One  Sabbath  there  was  an  unusually  large 
congregation  assembled  in  Ernest's  church. 
It  had  been  published  that  he  would,  by 
special  request,  preach  a  doctrinal  sermon. 

On  Monday  morning  there  was  considerable 
excitement  throughout  the  community.  Many 
of  those  who  had  believed  the  opposite 
doctrine,  were  caused  to  reflect,  and  made  to 
examine  the  ground- work  of  their  creed.  Lit- 
tle groups  gathered  on  the  streets  and  in  the 
stores  to  discuss  the  sermon  of  the  day  before. 

"  Well,"  said  good  old  father  Grimshaw, 
"  if  I  believed  as  Brother  Edgefield  does,  I 
would  never  go  to  church  any  more.  In  fact, 
I'd  never  do  anything,  but  I'd  take  my  fill  of 
sin — yes  I  would." 

"I  am  utterly  astounded,"  answered  a  Pres- 
byterian elder,  "to  hear  you  talk  that  way, 
father  Grimshaw.  If  you  were  to  take  your 
fill  of  sin,  how  could  you  be  a  Christian  ?  Can 
a  Christian  love  sin  ? " 


THE    LAST   SOEKE.  343 

"Why,  what  difference  would  it  make 
whether  I  am  a  Christian  or  not  ?  "  cried  the 
old  man.  "If  I'm  to  be  saved,  I'll  be  saved 
anyhow,  and  if  I'm  to  be  lost,  I'll  be  lost  any- 
how, no  matter  what  I  may  do." 

"Look  here,  father  Grimshaw,"  said  the 
elder,  "did  Brother  Edgefield  say  anything 
like  that  ? " 

"  If  he  didn't  say  ii,  that's  what  his  doctrine 
leads  to." 

"  I  confess,"  said  the  elder  mildly,  "  that  I 
cannot  see  that  it  leads  to  any  such  conclusion. 
But  that  is  the  way  with  some  of  you  people. 
You  draw  your  inferences,  and  take  them  as 
the  doctrines  of  the  Presbyterian  Church. 
You  know  that  Brother  Edgefield  said  that  alf 
could  be  saved  who  wanted  to  be.  I  should 
like  to  know  how  much  broader  you  desire 
the  plan  of  salvation.  Do  you  want  God  to 
save  people,  nolens  volens  f  " 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  father  Grimshaw.  "  But 
if  certain  people  are  fore-ordained  to  eternal 
death,  how  can  any  of  them  be  saved  ?  " 

"  Brother  Edgefield  made  that  as  plain  as 
anything  could  be,"  replied  the  Elder.  '^  But 
I  will  answer  your  question.  Of  course,  if 
they  are  fore-ordained  to  eternal  death,  they 


344  DEEP  WATEES. 

cannot  be  saved,  but  whose  fault  is  it?  God 
does  not  prevent  their  salvation.  It  is  nothing 
but  their  own  wicked  hearts — their  own  per- 
verse will.  No  man  ever  was  lost  simply  on 
account  of  predestination." 

"  But  why  don't  they  have  the  will  ?  "  asked 
father  Grimshaw. 

"  I  do  not  know,  but  that  is  the  truth,"  re- 
plied the  elder.  ''  Their  lack  of  the  will  is  not 
to  be  attributed  to  any  eternal  decree,  and  if 
that  be  so,  I  am  sure  the  sinner  can  charge  the 
loss  of  his  soul  to  nobody  but  himself.  We 
naturally  hold  every  man  responsible  for  his 
own  character.  If  a  man  is  a  thief,  it  is  not 
natural  for  us  to  think  that  God  made  him  so. 
Neither  do  we  hold  the  Lord  responsible  for 
any  man's  will.  If,  then,  the  sinner  lacks  the 
disposition  to  be  saved,  surely  he  cannot 
charge  God  with  injustice.  Every  man  has 
the  consciousness  that  he  could  be  a  Chris- 
tian, if  he  only  desired  to  be.  Then,  I  ask 
you,  in  the  name  of  common  sense,  how  does 
predestination  prevent  his  salvation  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  argue  the  question," 
cried  father  Grimshaw  testily,  "  but  it  does 
appear  horrible  to  me  that  God  should  choose 
one  man  to  eternal  life  and  condemn  another 


THE  LAST   SCENE.  845 

to   eternal   death,   when    both   are   alike   by 
nature — both  sinners." 

"  Let  me  ask  you,"  said  the  elder,  "  if  God 
was  under  any  obligations  to  save  any  one  ? " 

"No,  certainly  not." 

"  If  He  were  to  send  all  to  eternal  torment, 
would  it  be  just?  "  asked  the  Elder. 

"  Yes,"  answered  father  Grimshaw. 

"Well,  then,  if  God,  in  mercy,  choose  to 
save  a  large  portion  of  the  human  race,  and 
leave  the  rest  to  perish  in  their  sins,  and  on 
account  of  their  sins,  how  is  any  injustice 
done  them  ? " 

"Because  they  have  as  much  right  to  be 
chosen  as  the  others,"  said  father  Grimshaw. 

"Right!"  said  the  elder,  "What  right  do 
they  have  ?  I  suppose  if  the  Governor  were 
to  pardon  two  or  three  convicts,  he  is  bound 
to  pardon  all,  is  he  ?  Why,  my  dear,  sir,  your 
position  runs  squarely  into  Universalism  ?  " 

"  How  does  it  ? " 

•'^Why,  you  say  that  one  man  has  as  much 
right  to  be  saved  as  another.  If  then,  God 
saves  one.  He  must  save  all.  What  is  that 
but  Universalism  ?  "  asked  the  Elder. 

•  "He's  got  you  there,  father  Grimshaw,"  cried 
one  of  the  by-standers  with  a  laugh. 


346  DEEP   WATERS. 

"  I  repeat,  father  Grimsliaw,"  continued  the 
elder,  ''  no  man  is  punished  on  account  of  pre- 
destination, but  on  account  of  his  sins.  Show 
me  a  man  who  feels  that  he  must  be  lost  by 
reason  of  the  eternal  decrees,  and  I  promise  to 
give  up  the  doctrine." 

"  I  can't  for  my  life,"  said  father  Grimshaw, 
"  understand  why  some  are  chosen,  and  others 
are  passed  by." 

"  No,"  replied  the  elder,  "if  we  understood 
that,  Peter  never  would  have  said  that  Paul 
'wrote  things  hard  to  be  understood.'  If  we 
only  knew  what  God's  reasons  are,  there  would 
be  no  difficulty  and  no  mystery  in  the  doctrine 
of  predestination.  Bui  we  are  told  that  the 
secret  things  belong  unto  the  Lord,  and  those 
which  are  revealed  are  for  us  and  our  children." 

''Well,  you  Presbyterians,"  said  father 
Grimshaw,  "  have  a  way  of  getting  around 
things  so  that  it  is  hard  to  keep  up  with  you. 
I  cannot  argue  the  point,  but  the  doctrine 
looks  strange  to  me — don't  look  right  some- 
how." 

"  No,"  replied  the  elder,  "  that  is  what  peo- 
ple said  in  Paul's  day.  It  did  not  look  right 
to  some  of  the  disciples  of  Christ,  and  they 
went  back,  and  '  walked  with  Him  no  more.' 
People    always  have  found  fault  with   this 


THE   LAST   SCENE.  347 

doctrine,  and  I  suppose  will  do  so  till  tlie  end 
of  the  world." 

*'  I  must  say,"  spoke  up  a  man  by  the  name 
of  Wallerton,  "that  Mr.  Edgefield  made  it 
plain  to  my  mind.  I  never  knew  before  what 
Presbyterians  do  believe." 

''  What !  "  exclaimed  father  Grimshaw,  "  are 
you  going  to  turn  Presbyterian  ? " 

"  Well,"  answered  Wallerton,  "I  fully  en- 
dorse what  Mr.  Edgefield  said  yesterday.  If 
that  makes  me  a  Presbyterian,  I  am  one." 

"  All  may  believe  that  please,"  cried  father 
Grimshaw,  "  but  I  never  will.  You  may  out- 
argue  me,  but  you  are  not  going  to  make  me 
believe  that  predestination  is  right,  no  sir — 
never." 

"  But  what  will  you  do  with  the  Scripture  ?" 
asked  Wallerton.  "It  says,  'Whom  He  did 
foreknow.  He  did  predestinate.'  Now  what 
does  predestinate  mean  ?  " 

''I  don't  know,"  cried  father  Grimshaw, 
giving  way  ^  a  feeling  closely  related  to 
anger,  "  but  there  ain't  no  predestination  in  it 
— not  a  bit  of  it." 

"If  there  is  not,"  replied  Wallerton,  "I 
should  like  to  know  where  to  find  it." 

"  You'll  find  it  no  where,  but  in  the  Presbyte- 
rian Confession  of  Faith,"  cried  the  old  man 


348  DEEP   WATERS. 

"  Well,  I  am  convinced,"  said  Wallerton, 
"  that  it  is  the  true  doctrine.  I  love  to  believe 
it  too,  because  I  can  see  that  there  is  more 
comfort  in  it  than  in  the  other." 

"  What  comfort  is  there  in  it  ?  "  cried  the 
old  man,  raising  his  hand  in  holy  horror. 

''  Why  just  this,"  replied  Wallerton,  "  I  am 
trying  to  serve  G-od.  It  does  me  good,  then, 
to  think  that  I  have  been  elected  from  all 
eternity  to  salvation,  and,  therefore  I  can 
never  perish." 

"If  you  believe  that,"  exclaimed  the  old 
man,  "then  go  on,  and  sin  as  much  as  you 
please.     You'll  be  saved  anyhow." 

"  But  I  do  not  want  to  sin,"  replied  Waller- 
ton,  looking  at  him  in  surprise.  "  That  is  the 
very  thing  I  pray  God  to  deliver  me  from. 
Instead  of  desiring  to  sin,  I  pray  to  become 
more  holy.  I  do  not  ask  God  to  save  me  in 
my  sins,  but  from  them.  I  should  think  I 
would  make  a  poor  return  of  gratitude  to  God, 
if  He  should  give  me  the  evidence  of  my 
election,  and  I  should  say  to  Him,  I  will,  then, 
serve  the  devil.   What  sort  of  religion  is  that  ?" 

"  You  will  make  a  Presbyterian  out  of  me, 
Wallerton,  if  you  talk  much  longer,"  said 
another  by-stander. 


THE   LAST   SCENE.  349 

"  Father  Grimshaw,"  continued  Wallerton, 
laughing,  ''  you've  got  this  doctrine  wrong ; 
you  are  mixed  up  on  it." 

"If  I  am,  I  guess  I'll  stay  mixed  up,"  re- 
plied the  old  man,  shaking  his  head.  Rising, 
he  limped  off  on  his  stick,  leaving  the  group 
wondering  at  his  prejudice. 

Father  Grimshaw  was  a  type  of  that  class 
that  will  not  be  convinced  by  anything.  Many 
people  reject  the  doctrines  of  the  Presbyterian 
Church,  especially  predestination,  because 
such  doctrines  are  repugnant  to  their  feelings, 
and  are  not  in  harmony  with  their  precon- 
ceived opinions. 

We  may  here  state  that  all  the  parties  who 
have  been  conspicuous  in  these  pages,  are 
alive  at  the  present  writing,  and  our  story 
must  come  to  an  end. 

There  was  so  much  discussion  in  regard  to 
the  doctrinal  sermon  which  Ernest  had 
preached,  that  the  elders  of  his  church  re- 
quested it  for  publication.  He  thought  it  ad- 
visible  to  comply  with  their  request,  in  order 
that  there  might  be  no  misconstruction  of  his 
views.  We  present  the  outlines  of  the  sermon 
to  our  readers,  leaving  it  to  them  to  draw 
their  own  conclusions. 


THE   SERMON. 


* '  For  whom  He  did  foreknow  He  also  did  predestinate  to  be  con- 
formed to  the  image  of  His  Son," — Romans  viii :  2g. 

I  have  quoted  only  one  clause  of  the  verse, 
because  I  have  not  time  to  elaborate  the 
several  doctrines  to  which  the  apostle  calls 
our  attention.  On  this  occasion,  I  desire  to 
make  some  few  remarks  on  the  divine  pur- 
pose. In  one  sermon  I  can  do  little  more  than 
present  only  a  few  of  the  reasons  which  Pres- 
byterians have  for  believing  the  doctrine  of 
predestination.  Without  taking  up  the  time 
in  further  preliminaries,  I  proceed,  at  once, 
to  discuss  the  doctrine  that  is  announced  in 
our  text.  We  can  hardly  misapprehend  the 
text.  But  to  remove  all  possible  ground  of 
misconstruction  and  misunderstanding,  let  us 
notice  in  what  sense  "  foreknowledge "  is 
employed.  There  can  be  no  doubt  as  to  the 
meaning  of  predestination.  JN'o  one  will  dis- 
pute that  it  means  to  ^'  appoint,"  or  ''  destine 
beforehand."  ''To  foreknow,"  says  Adam 
Clarke,  "here  signifies  to  design  beforehand, 
360 


THE   SERMON.  351 

or  at  the  first  forming  of  the  scheme."     With- 
out, therefore,  doing  the  least  violence  to  the 
text,  I  am  justifiable  in  translating,  "  whom 
He  elected  or  designed  before  He  did  predesti- 
nate."     The  term  predestinate  embraces  both 
the  decrees  of  election  and  reprobation.    Some 
persons   are   disposed   to   limit   the  word    to 
election.     But  no  good  reason  can  be  assigned 
for  such  restriction,  as  God  determined   the 
final  condition  of  both  classes.     Permit  me  to 
say  here,  that  we  ought  to  enter  into  the  dis- 
cussion  of  this  subject  with  feelings   of  the 
deepest  solemnity  and  reverence.     I  know  it 
is  revolting  to  the  carnal  heart  to  think  that 
the  eternal  destiny  of  men  is  settled  before 
they   are  born.     It  is   repugnant   to   human 
pride;    but   above    all    things   let    us   avoid 
warping  and  perverting  the  truth  of  the  Scrip- 
ture so  as  to  bring  it  in  harmony  with  our 
feelings  and  desires.     If  we  allow  ourselves 
to  do  violence  to  God's  Word,  in  order  to  sup- 
port a  theory,  we  shall  run  into  serious  error. 
Men,  impelled  more  by  feeling  than  reason, 
have  embraced  the  doctrine  of  universalism. 
I  am  sure  I  could  have  no  objection  to   the 
doctrine  of  universalism,  if  it  could  be  estab- 
lished from  God's  written  Word.    I  want  no 


352  DEEP   WATERS. 

one  to  go  to  hell,  and  I  would  be  glad  to  think 
that  all  of  Adam's  race  will  be  saved  at  last. 
I,  for  one,  hold  to  the  doctrine  of  predestina- 
tion, not  only  because  it  is  agreeable  to  my 
feelings,  but  because  I  believe  it  to  be  taught 
in  God's  Word.  If  it  were  not  taught  there,  I 
would  not  have  the  least  objection  to  renounc- 
ing it.  Now  let  us,  as  briefly  as  possible,  see 
whether  or  not  it  is  promulgated  in  the  Bible. 
I  begin  with  Election.  Is  it  to  be  found  in 
the  Scriptures  ?  If  so,  it  is  our  duty  to  accept 
it,  no  matter  if  we  cannot  make  it  square  with 
our  notions  of  the  fitness  of  things.  The 
definition  of  election  is,  that  it  is  the  choice 
which  God,  in  the  exercise  of  sovereign  grace, 
made  of  certain  individuals  of  mankind  to 
enjoy  salvation  by  Jesus  Christ.  I  do  not 
think  the  position  can  be  successfully  com- 
batted,  that  God  has  elected  some  to  salvation 
in  preference  to  others.  There  are  many  pas- 
sages of  Scripture  that  establish  the  position. 
But  I  have  time  to  call  attention  to  only  a 
few  of  them.  Romans  16  :  13:  "Salute  Rufus 
chosen  in  the  Lord."  "I  have  manifested  thy 
name  unto  the  men  which  Thou  gavest  me 
out  of  the  world."  "  When  the  Gentiles 
heard  this,  they  were  glad,  and  glorified  the 


THE   SERMON.  353 

word    of   the    Lord,   and    as   many   as  were 
ordained  to  eternal  life,  believed."     ''  I  have 
much  people  in  this  city "     '^     ^     ^     ^     "  to 
them  who  are  the  called  of  the  Lord  according 
to  his  purpose,"   "  Ye  have  not  chosen  me, 
but  I  have  chosen  you,  that  ye  should  go  and 
bring  forth  fruit,  and  that  your  fruit  should 
remain."     "  He    said   to   Moses,   I  will   have 
mercy   on  whom   I  will   have   mercy,  and  I 
will  have  compassion  on  whom  I  will  have 
compassion."     "  So  then,  it  is  not  to  him  that 
willeth  nor  him  that  runneth,  but  of  God  that 
showeth  mercy."      "  Who  hath  saved  us  and 
called  us  with  a  holy  calling,  not  according 
to  our  work,  but  according  to  His  own  purpose 
and  grace  which  was  given  us  in  Christ  Jesus, 
before  the  world  began."     "According  as  He 
hath  chosen  us,  in  Him,  before  the  foundation 
of  the  world,   that   we  should   be    holy   and 
without  blame  before  Him   in  love."     These 
are  but  a  few  passages  that  establish  the  doc- 
trine of  predestination  and  election.     It  would 
require  a  volume  to  contain  the  passages  of 
Scripture   that   teach   the    doctrine  both   by 
precept   and  example.     Some   persons  admit 
the  doctrine  of  election  with  certain  modifica- 
tions.    They  say  it  is  an  election  of  character  ; 


354  DEEP   WATERS. 

they  affirm  that  God  elected  the  righteous 
character.  I  cannot  see  what  is  gained  by 
this  attempt  to  separate  an  individual  from 
his  character.  It  is  character  that  makes  the 
man.  It  would  be  just  as  reasonable  to  talk 
of  extracting  the  sweetness  from  sugar  as  to 
make  a  distinction  between  an  individual  and 
his  character.  But  leaving  out  the  passages 
which  I  have  just  quoted,  our  text  settles  the 
point.  It  says  plainly,  wJiom^  not  wliat,  he 
did  foreknow.  All  through  the  Scripture, 
election  is  spoken  of  as  applicable  to  individ- 
uals, and  not  characters.  So  ne  say,  God 
elected  to  salvation  those  who  He  foresaw 
would  believe  and  repent.  If  Paul  meant  no 
more  than  this  in  the  epistle  to  the  Romans, 
he  used  language  for  which  thiere  was  no 
necessity.  Why  should  he  exclaim  with 
such  solemnity,  "  Who  art  thou,  oh,  man, 
that  repliest  against  God"?  If  Paul  did  not 
hold  to  the  doctrine  of  predestination,  it  is 
strange  that  Peter  should  have  said  that  Paul 
"  wrote  things  hard  to  be  understood."  There 
is  not  the  least  difficulty  in  understanding 
the  proposition  that  God  elected  those  He 
foresaw  would  believe  and  repent.  No  Pres- 
byterian would  deny  that  proposition  in  its 


THE    SERMOIf.  355 

literal  sense,  for  it  is  certain  that  those  who 
are  elected,  do  believe  and  repent.     G-od  never 
elected   any  one   that   does   not  believe  and 
repent.     But  those  who  oppose  the  doctrines 
of  the  Presbyterian  Church,  assert  that  God 
elected  some  to  salvation  on  account  of  their 
foreseen  faith,  and  their  voluntary  compliance 
with  God's  requirements.      Well,  if  this  posi- 
tion be   correct,   there   was   no   necessity   of 
Peter's  saying  that  Paul  wrote  things  hard  to 
understand,    because    no   one   could   fail    to 
understand  such   a  proposition,  and  no   one 
could  reply  against  God,  not  even  the  worst 
sinner  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  if  Paul  meant 
no  more  than  that  every  man's  salvation  is 
placed  in  his  own  hands ;  because  this  is  the 
very  thing  for  which  the  natural  man  has  ever 
clamored.     No  one  would  object  to   the  doc- 
trine of  salvation  on  account  of  foreseen  faith 
and  righteousness,  or  righteous  works,   if  it 
were  taught  in  the  Scriptures ;  because  it  is 
in  accordance  with  human  notions  of  things. 
It  is  a  philosophical  idea.     I  will  cheerfully 
concede  the  point  that  the  main  system  that 
stands  opposed  to  the  doctrines  of  the   Pres- 
byterian Church  has  the  merit  of  philosophy. 
But  this  is  one  great  objection  to  it.     The 


356  DEEP   WATERS. 

Bible  is  no  book  of  pliiiosopliy.     It  announces 
truths  in  disconnected  order,  some  of  wbicli, 
owing  to  the  weakness  of  our  finite  minds, 
appear  to  be   contradictory.      But  the   chief 
objection  to  this   doctrine  of  foreseen   faith 
and  works  as  a  ground  of  salvation,  is  that  it 
does  not  appear  to  be  consonant  to  the  divine 
will.     Paul  tells  us  why  we  are  chosen.     He 
says  "  according  as  He  hath  chosen  us  in  Him 
before   the  foundation  of  the  world,  that  we 
should  be   holy   and    without  blame  before 
Him  in  love."     We  were  not  chosen  because 
we  were  already  holy,    but   that  we   should 
be(  ome  so.     Then   he   goes  on  to  say :  ''  He 
having  predestinated  us  unto  the  adoption  of 
children  by  Jesus  Christ  to  Himself  according 
to  the  good  pleasure  of  His  loill.^^    That  is 
the  reason  why  we  were  chosen  ;  it  was  the 
good  pleasure  of  His  will.     He  does  not  say 
that  we  were  chosen  on  account  of  our  fore- 
seen faith  and  works.      I  hope  no  one   will 
understand  me  as  affirming  that  we  are  saved 
without  faith.     We  must  have  faith  ;  but  it  is 
not  the   ground  of    our   salvation.     Besides, 
faith  itself  is  the  gift  of  God.     It  is  a  well- 
settled  principle   in    all   orthodox   theology, 
that  man  is  dead  in  trespasses  and  sin.     How 


THE    SERMON.  357 

God  could  foresee  that  a  man  in  this  condi- 
tion could,  of  himself,  exercise  faith,  it  is  dif- 
ficult to  conceive.  It  requires  the  Holy  Spirit 
to  awaken  men  to  life.  Without  such  an 
operation,  no  man  is  capable  of  spiritual 
activity.  If  this  be  granted,  then,  we  can 
easily  see  in  what  sense  faith  is  the  gift  of 
God.  Now  to  bring  the  discussion  down  to 
the  narrowest  possible  limits,  I  will  lay  down 
a  proposition  which  cannot  be  disputed. 

First,  God  made  choice  of  some  to  be  saved. 
On  what  principle  was  the  choice  based? 
Why,  to  use  plain  language,  God  chose  some 
on  account  of  some  good  in  them  ;  or  some 
evil  in  them  ;  or  the  choice  was  simply  His 
good  will  and  pleasure.  Well,  there  was  no 
good  in  them,  consequently  God  could  not 
have  chosen  them  on  that  account.  There 
was  not  a  naturally  righteous  character  on 
the  face  of  the  earth.  If  men  had  been  left 
to  themselves  to  believe,  not  a  single  individ- 
ual of  the  human  race  would  have  been  saved. 
Again,  God  is  too  holy  to  have  chosen  men 
on  account  of  the  evil  in  them.  I  presume  no 
one  will  contend  for  any  such  doctrine  as 
this.  Then,  the  conclusion  of  the  whole  mat- 
ter is,  that  God  chose  some  men  to  salvation 
because  it  was  His  good  will  and  pleasure. 


358  DEEP    WATERS. 

Some  cry  out  that  this  would  be  unjust. 
They  ssiy  that  God  should  not  make  distinc- 
tions, and  that  He  should  be  impartial.  I  do 
not  see  where  the  injustice  is.  To  illustrate : 
Here  are  five  criminals  condemned  to  death. 
If  the  Governor  should  pardon  two  of  them, 
is  there  any  injustice  to  the  remaining  three? 
The  objector  says  there  would  be,  unless  the 
Governor  has  some  good  reason  for  showing 
clemency  in  the  case  of  the  two.  For  the 
sake  of  argument,  we  will  admit  it.  God  also 
has  His  reasons  for  His  choice;  but  these 
reasons,  so  far  as  His  secret  purposes  are 
concerned,  have  never  been  revealed  to  us. 
All  we  now  know  is  that  He  will  have  mercy 
on  whom  He  will  have  mercy.  Men  somehow, 
seem  to  think  that  God  has  no  right  to  make 
distinctions  among  the  sons  of  Adam  ;  and 
that  He  is  bound  to  put  all  on  the  same  level, 
and  if  He  saves  one.  He  is  bound  to  give  all 
the  same  opportunity  to  be  saved.  But  God 
is  under  no  sort  of  obligation  to  save  any  one. 
If  the  Lord  has  no  right  to  make  distinctions, 
then  we  are  driven  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
universalist  has  the  true  doctrine.  Because 
it  would  follow  that  if  God  saves  one,  then  He 
must  employ  such  means  in  the  case  of  every 


THE   SERMON.  359 

individual  as  would  result  in  His  salvation. 
K  it  required  a  miracle  to  convince  Paul,  and 
it  would  require  a  miracle  to  convince  me, 
God  would  be  bound  to  perform  it.  So  all 
must  be  saved.  The  only  safe  position  is  to 
take  God's  Word  at  what  it  says.  It  speaks 
of  the  elect  as  individuals,  and  not  mere  char- 
acters, and  it  speaks  of  them  as  chosen  before 
the  foundation  of  the  world,  because  of  God's 
good  will  and  pleasure.  Now  let  us  notice 
the  other  class  whom  God  has  not  chosen — 
the  class  of  reprobates.  The  idea  of  reproba- 
tion is  necessarily  implied  in  the  idea  of 
election.  So  if  we  prove  one,  the  other  is 
virtually  established.  They  are  correlative 
terms,  and  men  do  violence  to  Scripture  arid 
logic  when  they  admit  election  and  deny 
reprobation.  When  out  of  some  objects  a 
choice  is  made,  those  not  chosen  are  certainly 
rejected.  When  objects  are  presented  to  a 
person  for  the  selection  of  some,  even  if  he 
speak  not  a  word,  he  says  by  his  actions : 
"  This  I  will  take,  and  this  I  will  not  take." 
It  is  in  vain  to  say  that  nothing  has  been  done 
to  them ;  but  that  they  were  left  in  the  pre- 
cise condition  in  which  they  were  found. 
There  certainly  has  been  some  sort  of  act  of 


360  DEEP   WATERS. 

mind  in  refusing  them,  or  passing  them   by. 
But  leaving  out  the  question  of  logical  consis- 
tency, we  would  have  no  zeal  in  the  advocacy 
of  such  a  doctrine  were  it  not  taught  in  the 
Scriptures.     We  could  well  afford  to  admit  a 
logical  inconsistency,  if  by  the  admission  we 
could    get    rid  of    this   doctrine    which  has 
aroused   a  spirit  of  rebellious  wrath  in   the 
heart  of  the  natural  man.     We  may  lift  up 
our  hands  in  holy  horror  at  the  idea  of  repro- 
bation, but  the  Scriptures  affirm  it  in  language 
plain  enough.     There  are  so  many  passages 
bearing  on  the  subject,  that  I  have  not  time 
to  call  attention  to  them  all.     I  refer  to  only 
a  few  as  specimens.     The  Scriptures  say  con- 
cerning Pharaoh,  '  For  this  same  purpose  have 
I  raised  thee  up,'  etc.     "  Therefore  hath  He 
mercy   on   whom   He    will  have  mercy,   and 
whom    He  will  He   hardeneth."     "  What  if 
God,  willing  to  show  His  wrath,  and  to  make 
His  power  known,  endured  with  much  long- 
suffering  the  vessels  of  wrath  fitted  to  destruc- 
tion."    "  Men  of  corrupt  mind,  reprobate  con- 
cerning the  faith."     "  There  are  certain  men 
crept  in   unawares   who  were  before  of   old 
ordained  to  this  condemnation,"  etc.      Again," 
we  read  of  those  whose  names  are  not  written 


THE   SERMON.  361 

in  the  Book  of  Lite.  I  could  quote  other 
passages  just  as  strong  and  conclusive  as 
those  referred  to.  Throughout  the  whole 
Scriptures,  from  Genesis  to  Revelation,  we 
are  taught  both  by  precept  and  example,  that 
there  is  a  line  running  between  the  people  of 
God  and  those  doomed  to  eternal  destruction. 
Therefore,  we  conclude  that  the  framers  of  the 
Westminster  Confession  of  Faith  were  justi- 
fiable in  inserting  that  much-abused  article  : 
"  By  the  decree  of  God,  for  the  manifestation 
of  His  glory,  some  men  and  angels  are  pre- 
destinated unto  everlasting  life,  and  others 
are  fc^re-ordained  to  everlasting  death."  The 
idea  is  expressed  in  no  ambiguous  terms. 
These  men  perceived  the  doctrine  in  God's 
Word,  and  they  did  not  shrink  from  avowing 
it,  without  the  least  sugar-coating. 

And  now,  if  reasoning  from  logical  premises 
would  be  of  any  avail ;  if  it  be  thought  neces- 
sary to  support  scriptural  truth  by  logical 
processes,  I  would  say  that  only  three  propo- 
sitions can  be  made  in  regard  to  the  salvation 
of  men : 

First,  All  men  will  be  saved. 

Second,  All  men  will  be  lost. 

Third,  A  part  of  the  human  race  will  be 
saved,  and  a  part  lost. 


362  DEEP    WATERS. 

We  can  easily  prove  by  the  holy  Scriptures 
that  the  first  two  propositions  are  not  true. 
Then,  we  are  bound  to  admit  that  the  tliird  is 
true.  This  is  a  fixed  fact.  The  question  is, 
when  was  it  fixed  in  the  mind  of  God  ?  The 
Scripture  says  the  elect  were  chosen  before 
the  foundation  of  the  world.  The  point  for 
which  we  contend  is  that  the  fact  was  fixed 
by  the  Lord.  It  was  not  simply  foreseen  as 
a  fact  that  would  arise  independently  of 
divine  interposition,  but  it  was  predetermined. 
It  was  God  who  determined  it.  This  is  the 
kind  of  predestination  to  which  the  Presbyte- 
rian Church  holds.  Whatever  objections  may 
be  urged  against  it,  we  believe  it  to  be  taught 
in  God's  Word.  There  are  questions  in 
regard  to  it  which  no  human  being  can  answer. 
We  are  confronted  with  the  question,  how 
fore- ordination  and  man's  free  agency  can  be 
reconciled.  It  is  certainly  no  good  reason  for 
the  rejection  of  a  doctrine  that  we  cannot  fully 
understand  it.  Who  can  understand  the 
Trinity  ?  Who  can  comprehend  the  dual 
existence  of  our  Lord  Jesus  ?  Su^h  truths  we 
receive  on  faith,  and  not  because  they  are  in 
harmony  with  reason.  But  it  is  not  right  to 
require   that    Predestinarians    shall    remove 


THE   SERMON.  363 

objections  which  apply  with  equal  force  to 
the  theological  s^^stem  of  those  who  so  bitterly 
oppose  us.  For  instance,  how  can  fore-knowl- 
edge be  reconciled  with  man's  free  agency? 
Whatever  God  fore-knows  must  come  to  pass. 
We,  too,  believe  with  others,  that  so  far  as 
free  agency  is  concerned,  every  man  on  the 
face  of  the  earth  could  be  saved,  if  he  only 
had  the  loill  to  come  to  Christ.  But  some 
will  not  accept ;  and  that  fact  was  fixed  in 
the  Eternal  Mind,  away  back  before  the 
foundation  of  the  world,  as  well  as  the  other 
fact,  that  some  would  accept.  It  is  in  vain  to 
say  that  this  result  was  merely  fore-seen. 
When  there  was  nothing  in  existence,  how 
could  God  fore- see  anything  except  what  He 
had  determined  should  be  ?  Permit  me  to  use 
a  plain  illustration  :  Here  stands  a  sculptor 
before  a  block  of  marble.  There  are  millions 
of  possible  images  and  forms  in  that  marble. 
With  his  chisel  the  artist  can  develop  one 
image.  That  must  lirst  exist  as  a  conception 
in  his  mind.  After  a  while  the  beautiful  slatue 
is  brought  out  as  the  result  of  a  predetermina- 
tion. Or  the  sculptor  might  produce  two 
images — three — four — a  hundred.  There  are 
millions  of  possible  forms  in  the  marble,  but 


864  DEEP    WATERS. 

the  workman  determines  what  forms  he   will 
develop.       Applying    the  illustration,   there 
were  millions  of  possible  events   or  circum- 
stances before  the  divine   Mind.     The   Lord 
could  have  made  this  world  larger  or  smaller; 
He  could  have  made  Adam  a  very  different 
being  from  what  he  was.    But  God  chose,  pre- 
determined, to  make  this  world  just  the  size  it 
is.     Grod  selected  the  events  that  take  place 
out  of  millions  that  might  have  taken  place, 
as  the  sculptor  chose   the   images   which   he 
would  develop.     If  the  Lord  did  not  select, 
or  predetermine,  the  precise  events  that  occur 
in  time,  who  did  make  the  selection  ?    Was 
the  All  Wise  God  merel}^  trying  experiments? 
What  would  we  think  of  a  sculptor  who  should 
go  to  work  on  his  block  of  marble  without  any 
conception  or  plan  in  his  mind  ?    How,  then, 
can  we  believe  that  God  would  place  men  in 
the  world,  and  devise  the  scheme  of  redemp- 
tion without  selecting  the  exact  results  in  His 
own   Omniscient  Mind?     The  Lord   has   His 
own  purposes,  and  these  purposes  will  be  ac- 
complished ;      and     this     is     predestination. 
Therefore,  I  do  not  hesitate  to  endorse  another 
article  of  our  Confession  of  Faith,  which  has 
been  often  assailed  with  un-christian  virulence: 


THE   SERMON.  365 

"  God  hath  fore -ordained  whatsoever  comes  to 
pass." 

Here  I  would  observe  that  the  objection  is 
without  foundation  that,  if  predestination  be 
true,  it  is  in  vain  for  men  to  make  any  effort 
to  be  saved.  This  is  a  gross  perversion  of  the 
doctrine.  God  does  not  decree  that  any  one 
shall  be  doomed  to  eternal  torment  who  de- 
sires to  enjoy  heaven,  and  who  is  willing  to 
accept  the  terms  of  salvation.  Show  me  the 
sinner  who  is  thirsting  for  the  waters  of  Life, 
and  I  will  show  you  one  whose  name  is  written 
in  the  Book  of  Heaven  as  an  heir  of  God. 
Now,  how  much  broader  do  we  want  the  plan 
of  salvation,  if  it  embraces  all  that  desire 
salvation  on  Scriptural  terms  ?  If  the  sinner 
is  disposed  to  repent,  he  has  no  reason  to 
suppose  that  he  belongs  to  the  reprobate  class. 
But  some  men  want  an  excuse  for  continuing 
in  sin,  and  these  are  the  persons  who,  Peter 
said,  would  "wrest  the  Scriptures  to  their  own 
destruction." 

Another  argument  in  support  of  this  doctrine 
is  the  fact  that  Paul  mentions,  and  comments 
upon  the  very  objections  that  are  to  this  day 
urged  against  the  doctrines  of  the  Presbyte- 
rian Church.     It  is  evident   that  the  apostle 


366  DEEP    WATERS. 

taught  precisely  what  the  Confession  of  Faith 
does.  We  have  to  meet  the  very  same 
objections  which  he  met,  and  refuted.  We 
know  that  this  doctrine  has  ever  been  revolt- 
ing to  men  of  the  world.  You  remember,  when 
Christ  said,  "  No  man  can  come  unto  me  ex- 
cept the  Father  which  hath  sent  me,  draw 
him,"  some  of  His  disciples  "  went  back,  and 
walked  with  Him  no  more." 

I  have  no  doubt  the  doctrine  of  predestina- 
tion will  be  opposed  to  the  end  of  time.  But 
it  can  never  be  destroyed.  You  may  revise 
the  Confession  of  Faith  till  every  vestige  of  it 
disappears,  but  that  does  not  blot  it  out  from 
the  pages  of  God's  Word.  To  get  rid  of  that 
doctrine,  the  whole  Bible  must  be  revised  from 
Genesis  to  Revelation.  Strike  out  from  the 
Scriptures  every  thing  that  is  said  in  regard 
to  predestination ;  expunge  every  passage 
from  which  the  doctrine  may  be  deduced  by 
plain  inference,  and  there  is  nothing  left  but 
Universalism. 

Predestination  and  man's  free  agency  are 
both  taught  in  the  Holy  Scriptures.  Recognize 
this  fact,  and  you  will  find  little  difficulty  in 
harmonizing  passages  that  may  appear  to 
some  persons  to  be  antagonistic.   Reject  either 


THE   SERMON. 


367 


doctrine,  and  you  will  run  into  serious  error. 
There  is  Fatalism,  on  the  one  side  ;  and  on 
the  other,  there  is  a  broad  Liberality  of  senti- 
ment among  men  which  receives  no  support 
from  God's  Word.  Hence  we  honestly  be- 
lieve that  the  position  of  the  Presbyterian 
Church  is  the  only  true  way  to  steer  in  safety 
between  Scylla  and  Charybdis. 


FIBHY  TMIAIS 

A  Story  of  An  Infidel's  Family, 

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o<\I\Rl\?HEl\>o 

A  ST#H Y  OF  KTOWTTIO; 

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THE  CAVE  OF  HEGOBAR 

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Any  of  the  above  books  sent  by  m2\\  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  price. 

Each  volume  treats  of  some  important  religious  doctrine. 

They  are  recommended  by  such  men  as  Drs.  B.  M. 

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Please  address, 

REV.  R.  H.  CROZIER,  Sardis,  Miss. 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

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AT 

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Wilmer 
305 


